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It was half a month ago that I received a text message from Mei Qi. Shu Qing has been hesitating whether to attend her birthday party. The warm wind in autumn is sprinkled with sweet osmanthus fragrance. Suck your nose and you will feel sleepy. Shu Qing walked under the swing frame and sit on it. The flute came from the opposite video store, clear and melodious. Just listening to one sentence, Shu Qing knew it was Lu Chunling's Song of Joy. Music drifted out, watering the streets like a sprinkler. Traffic seemed to slow down.