Chronicles of the Beginning of Love

Qiu Huaijun doesn’t do as he’s told to do; his body is often covered with wounds. His seventeen-year-old gaze like that of a young dog; dried orange peels, the dim sunlight covered by the curtains; intimately, ambiguously, kissing, crying and shouting and sweating; to lose oneself in. “A perpetual enchantment with your indecency.”