Green plums cannot become lovers.

"I...I want to become a programmer. I love computers, I love programming, I love the feeling of creating things. Although my math isn't very good, I will study hard. I want to create software that can make people's lives more convenient..."

After he finished speaking, applause rang out in the classroom. There was no mockery, no doubt, only sincere encouragement. The boy returned to his seat, his face flushed, but his eyes shone brightly.

The second was a lively girl: "I want to open a flower shop! I love flowers, and I think every flower has its own unique beauty. I want to share this beauty with more people, and I want everyone who comes to my shop to leave with a smile..."

The third was a boy wearing glasses: "I want to be a teacher, like Mr. Takanashi. Because... because I had a wonderful teacher in elementary school who changed my life. I want to become like him and help more children..."

One by one, students stepped onto the stage to share their dreams. Some wanted to be scientists, researching the mysteries of the universe; some wanted to be doctors, saving lives; some wanted to be architects, designing beautiful houses; some wanted to be chefs, making food that brings happiness; and some even said they wanted to be professional gamers, which drew laughter, but the applause was equally enthusiastic.

Ideals come in all shapes and sizes, some sounding realistic, others fantastical. But no one laughed; everyone listened attentively and applauded sincerely. Just like when they first entered this class and stood on the podium to introduce themselves—nervous and inexperienced, yet everyone received understanding and encouragement.

When it was Anana's turn, she took a deep breath and walked onto the podium.

“I…I don’t have a particularly clear ideal yet,” she said honestly. “But I want to be someone who can make others feel warm. Like some of my classmates, I always lend a helping hand when others need it, and always comfort others when they are sad. Maybe it’s not a grand ideal, but I think it’s a very meaningful thing if it can make the people around me feel happy.”

As she spoke, her gaze unconsciously drifted towards An and Asuka. The boy sat quietly in his seat, watching her with an encouraging smile in his eyes.

The applause erupted, even more enthusiastic than before.

When it was Himegami Karen's turn, she said, "I want to be with everyone and never be apart. But I know that's impossible, so I hope that even if we're not together anymore, we can still remember each other and not forget the stories we created together because of distance."

Her voice was soft but firm, and applause rang out in the classroom again.

Finally, it was An and Asuka's turn.

When he stepped onto the podium, the applause was exceptionally loud. This boy was exceptionally popular in the class—not only for his outstanding grades and talents, but more importantly for his character and integrity. Everyone had received his help, and everyone had felt his kindness.

An and Asuka stood on the podium, their gaze sweeping over every face in the classroom. These were classmates with whom he had spent three years; some were familiar, others were just nodding acquaintances, but all had left their mark on his youth.

"I want all the people I love and who love me to be happy," he said slowly, his voice calm and clear. "Of course, I also wish everyone a bright future."

It was a very simple ideal, one could even say an ideal without any specific goals. But the classroom erupted in enthusiastic applause once again.

"How amazing, Anhe!"

"What a lofty ideal!"

"How could I not have thought of that!"

The students all sighed, mostly in jest and jokes, since this guy was too much like a protagonist on TV. When the protagonist speaks, there must be supporting characters echoing him.

But jokes aside, this boy has indeed been doing this for the past three years—he takes care of the disadvantaged classmates, and he will not hesitate to lend a helping hand to classmates who encounter difficulties. He also uses his music to warm the hearts of those around him.

An and Asuka smiled at everyone's reactions and returned to their seats. He didn't think he had done anything remarkable; he had simply done what he believed he should do.

Ms. Takanashi stood by the podium, tears of emotion glistening in her eyes. She looked at her graduating students, watching them grow from naive, clueless first-year junior high students into young people with their own dreams and aspirations. As a teacher, there was nothing more gratifying than this.

"Students," she said, "whatever your dreams are, wherever your future leads, please remember this moment, remember the courage and sincerity you have shown. Dreams may change, and the road may be winding, but as long as you keep this original aspiration, you will surely find your own happiness."

The bell rang, but no one rushed to leave. Everyone was still immersed in that warm and touching atmosphere, looking at each other, smiling, and offering blessings.

That was a rare class during the intense preparation for the final exams of junior high school, a class without exercises, without pressure, only filled with dreams and hopes. Years later, when these students go their separate ways and strive on their own paths in life, they may still remember that snowy December afternoon, remember themselves standing on the podium sharing their dreams, and those sincere applause.

After class, An and Asuka were called to the office by Tomoyo Takanashi.

"What does the teacher want to see me about?" he asked.

Mr. Takanashi asked him to sit down, then took a document out of his drawer: "It's about the graduation ceremony. The school hopes you can perform a piece of music at the ceremony."

An and Asuka were somewhat surprised: "Why me?"

"Because you're very famous at school," Ms. Takanashi explained. "Not only are you the backbone of the Light Music Club, having composed many popular songs, but you also have excellent grades, making you a good student in the eyes of teachers and a role model for your classmates. It's most suitable for you to represent the graduates in the performance."

She paused, then added, "And this might be the Light Music Club's last public performance at school. I think it will be a meaningful farewell for you and for the rest of the Light Music Club."

An and Asuka were silent for a moment. He understood the teacher's good intentions and the significance of this opportunity. Performing at the graduation ceremony was not only a summary of his three years of junior high school life, but also a way to express his gratitude to the light music club and to those who supported him.

“I agree,” he said, then looked up. “But I have one condition.”

"What conditions?"

“It’s not just me performing; the other members of the Light Music Club—Marina, Shizuka, and Ai—will also be with me. Without them, there would be no Light Music Club today. These are our shared memories, and we should put an end to them together.”

Looking into his determined eyes, Ms. Takanashi felt a surge of warmth in her heart. This boy, even in such a moment, wasn't thinking of personal glory, but of the camaraderie among his friends.

“Okay, I agree.” She nodded. “I will communicate with the school and arrange for the four of you to perform together.”

"Thank you, teacher." An and Asuka bowed.

After the stressful exams, spring quietly arrived.

In March, the cherry blossom trees on campus began to sprout pink buds, like the blush on a young girl's face. The forsythia by the playground had already bloomed, its golden flowers swaying in the spring breeze, announcing the end of winter.

The graduation ceremony is scheduled for March 20th, the day before the spring equinox.

Anwa Asuka, Marina, Shizuka, and Ai began their intense rehearsals.

The melody of "Hotaru no Hikari" echoed in the music room, gentler and more heartfelt than ever before. This might be the last time they played this song together, and everyone poured their hearts into it.

Hua Lian's guitar is as clear as morning dew, Banami's bass is as gentle as a spring breeze, Xiao Ai's vocals are as clear as a stream, and An and Asuka's drums are as deep as the earth. The four sounds intertwine to create a wonderful harmony, as if it were not four people playing, but a single, complete voice telling a story.

They had practiced this piece many times, so there was no need to continue practicing it.

But even as darkness fell completely, until their fingers ached and their voices became hoarse, no one complained of being tired, and no one wanted to stop. Because every practice session could be the last.

March 19th, the day before the graduation ceremony.

After rehearsal, the four of them sat on the floor of the music room in silence. The last rays of the setting sun streamed through the windows, casting warm dappled light on the wooden floor. The lingering notes of the performance and a faint sense of farewell still hung in the air.

"After tomorrow, we'll all be going our separate ways," said Bana, noticing a hint of melancholy in Anja's voice.

“It’s not like we’re never going to see each other again,” An and Asuka said. “Aichi and Tokyo aren’t far apart; it’s a quick train ride.”

“But it feels different now,” Himegami Karen said. “Middle school is over, the light music club is over, a phase has really ended.”

An and Asuka looked at them, a complex mix of emotions welling up inside them. Yes, one phase had come to an end.

Whether they stay together in the future or not, whether the light music club continues in some form or not, the light music club of junior high school is indeed coming to an end.

“But an ending also means a new beginning.” He thought for a moment and said, “What we learned in the light music club was not just music. It was also trust, support, companionship, and the courage to strive for our dreams. These will always be with us, no matter where we go.”

The three girls looked at him, their eyes lighting up again.

"Yes!" they said in unison.

That night, An and Asuka stayed up very late. He sat at his desk, looking at the bright moonlight outside the window, pen in hand, but unable to write a single note. His mind replayed the events of the past three years, from the establishment of the club to its disbandment; they had truly experienced a lot.

This kind of experience may never be repeated after junior high school ends.

As he was thinking, he suddenly thought of someone else, the blonde girl who had suddenly entered his life and left a deep impression on him.

An and Asuka took a photo out of the drawer; it was their first group photo in the light music club.

In the photo, the blonde girl is smiling so brightly.

So many memories, like a long movie, flashed through my mind frame by frame.

Volume 1: Chapter 162 The Final Parting [11,000 words]

On March 20th, the day before the Spring Equinox, the flowers were in full bloom. At the No. 1 Middle School, the cherry trees seemed to know this was a special day, unleashing their winter-accumulated splendor without reservation. Pinkish-white clouds enveloped the paths, and a gentle breeze brought a soft, quiet snowfall. Students walked towards the gymnasium, their steps slower than usual, as if each step was measuring their final moments on this campus.

The graduation ceremony, like the opening ceremony three years ago, was held in the same gymnasium. The same stage, the same red banner, even the dust motes floating in the air, swaying in the sunlight streaming through the high windows, seemed familiar. Only, three years ago, the students sitting in the audience were freshmen filled with curiosity and trepidation about the future; today, they were graduates about to go their separate ways.

From student representatives to grade heads, and then to the principal, everyone took to the stage to deliver speeches that might have been long and tedious, but were filled with sincerity. Unlike the welcome three years ago, every word today carried the weight of farewell. Perhaps everyone knew this was the last time, for no one in the audience showed impatience. Everyone listened attentively, their expressions focused.

When the speaker spoke emotionally—"You are like children I personally sent away," "This will always be your home"—many sentimental students already had tears in their eyes, lowering their heads to quietly wipe away their tears. The atmosphere was heavy yet tender, as if only a gentle touch would cause the emotions accumulated over three years to overflow.

An and Asuka watched all this quietly backstage. He said nothing, but a glint of light flickered in his eyes, like an undercurrent surging beneath a calm lake. Beside him, Hoshino Ai, Hanami Anna, and Himemiya Karen also stood silently.

Hoshino Ai stood up straight, her idol instincts keeping her poised, but her tightly pursed lips betrayed her inner turmoil; Hanami Anna's gaze followed a familiar figure in the audience, her eyes filled with complex emotions; Himegami Karen kept her head down, her fingers unconsciously twirling the hem of her skirt.

Each of them had their own thoughts churning within them, about the past, about the present, and about the uncertain future.

Time flowed slowly in the somber atmosphere, as if frozen in place by the sorrow of parting. Finally, the principal's speech ended with a long sigh. The host returned to the stage, his voice carrying through the microphone into the silent gymnasium:

"Next, please welcome our favorite group—the Light Music Club—to give their final performance for the graduation ceremony!"

The applause surged forth like a tidal wave, more enthusiastic and longer than ever before, as if trying to hold onto something with its sound.

An and Asuka took a deep breath and exchanged glances with the girls beside them. They both saw the same determination and a hint of unconcealed melancholy in each other's eyes. They nodded and walked together onto the familiar stage.

The spotlight shone on them, and instantly, more than two hundred eyes focused on them. They had experienced such scenes many times, from the initial cultural festival to various performances later on, and should have been used to it by now.

But today, the air below the stage was heavy. There was no excitement or restlessness, no enthusiastic cheers or screams, only a silent gaze. That silence contained so much: three years of friendship, love and admiration for the performers, and a deep attachment to all things that were about to pass away.

An Hefei took a step forward. He walked to the center of the stage and took the microphone from the host. His gaze calmly swept across the audience, over the teachers' eager faces, and over the students' moist eyes.

"Hello everyone, we are the No. 1 Middle School Light Music Department." His voice flowed through the speakers, clear and steady, like a stream gliding over pebbles. "Today, it is an honor to stand here and dedicate the last song to everyone and to our own junior high school days."

He didn't say anything more emotional. Those few words were enough to ignite the emotions that filled the air. He stepped back slightly, standing beside Hoshino Ai.

Because the drum kit was inconvenient to move, he had already recorded the beats. Now, in his hand lay the long, dark shakuhachi. His fingertips gently caressed the smooth patina on the bamboo, a testament to countless days and nights of practice. Now, this ancient instrument was second nature to him, but his aim was not to display skill, but to pour out his emotions.

The four exchanged glances, a silent understanding flowing in the air. Anwa and Asuka raised their shakuhachi to their lips.

The first note burst forth.

It wasn't strings, nor piano keys, but the unique, desolate, and distant timbre of the shakuhachi. Like a breeze blowing from the depths of time, carrying a thousand years of loneliness and tenderness, it instantly seized everyone's heart. The sound was clear and melodious, yet carried an indescribable tremor, as if it bore too much weight, about to overflow.

Then, the sound of a guitar flowed in like a clear spring. The clear, leaping notes skillfully softened the desolation of the shakuhachi, adding a touch of youthful vibrancy. Shizuka's harmonies quietly entered, gentle as a lullaby hummed by a mother before bedtime, soothing all the anxieties of parting.

Then, Ai Hoshino raised the microphone.

When her voice rang out, tears finally broke free from the already reddened eyes of the audience.

"The light of fireflies, the window of snow..."

The sound of Anwa Asuka's shakuhachi lingered in his mind; it was no longer just accompaniment, but another form of expression, intertwining and conversing with the song, conveying feelings that words could not fully express. He closed his eyes, his fingers dancing across the tone holes based on memory and feeling.

Everything, the amber of time, melts into this song, "The Light of Fireflies."

Whether to move forward or stay put, there is a time limit.

Below the stage, suppressed sobs could no longer be concealed. A girl buried her face in her hands, her shoulders trembling slightly; a boy tilted his head back, blinking hard to force back his tears; several close friends held each other's hands tightly, drawing strength from one another. Even the usually stern teachers in the front row took off their glasses to wipe their eyes, and the PE teacher lowered his head, his broad shoulders trembling slightly.

As the music climbed higher, Ai's singing grew fuller and more resolute, the piano music soared and uplifted, and Shizuka's harmonies lifted up a dome of emotion. And An and Asuka's shakuhachi—the sound seemed to come alive, trying to break free from the constraints of the bamboo tube, piercing through the roof of the gymnasium, and reaching the high, distant clouds of spring.

During the chorus, An and Asuka put down their shakuhachi, picked up another microphone, and stood side by side with Hoshino Ai, their voices blending together.

Four voices, four streams that once flowed alone, now converge into a warm and powerful river, flowing through everyone's heart and washing out the deepest tenderness and emotion.

As the last note slowly dissipated into the air, its lingering resonance remained like a wisp of smoke. A moment of absolute silence fell over the stadium, as if even breathing had ceased.

Then, applause broke out.

It wasn't cheering, it wasn't jubilation, but a slow, heavy thud, one beat after another, like a heartbeat, like a farewell, like the deepest blessing. Many people clapped while tears streamed down their faces, yet they forced a smile, a tearful one—the most touching and complex expression of youth.

The four people on the stage bowed deeply. The first bow was to thank their teachers for their guidance; the second bow was to thank their classmates for their companionship; and the third bow was to thank their alma mater for its three years of nurturing.

As An and Asuka straightened up, their gazes pierced through the flickering lights and blurry, tear-filled eyes, landing on Marina and Shizuka, who were clapping enthusiastically in the audience. Their faces were streaked with tears, but their eyes shone brightly. He also noticed Akane Akasaka, who had quietly appeared in the last row of the stadium. She stood with her arms crossed, gazing silently at the stage, a contented smile on her face, and tears glistening in the corners of her eyes.

He also saw many, many familiar faces. Those who had attended classes in the same classroom, those who had nodded and smiled as they passed each other in the corridor, those who he might not have known for three years but felt incredibly close to at this moment... After today, they will be separated by vast distances, and may never see each other again in his lifetime.

This realization made his heart feel as if it had been gently squeezed by an invisible hand—a slight pain, a slight emptiness. But then, a broader sense of relief spread through him. Life is like this, a constant cycle of meeting and parting. And they, at least in this grand farewell, left behind the most beautiful notes and the most sincere emotions.

This is enough.

The graduation ceremony officially concluded with a melodious rendition of the school anthem. However, the students leaving the gymnasium didn't rush off campus as they usually do on any other day. Time seemed to stretch out, their steps slowed by a thick, lingering emotion. They all spontaneously dispersed to various corners of the campus.

Some people held up their phones or cameras under the cherry blossom trees, trying to capture the blossoms and smiling faces together; some sat side by side on the bleachers by the playground, saying nothing, just quietly gazing at the track they had once run on; some returned to the empty classrooms and wrote their final messages on the blackboard; some leaned on the familiar corridor railings, their eyes greedily lingering on every detail.

An and Asuka were quickly surrounded by their classmates.

"Anhe-kun, happy graduation! Can we take a picture together?"

"Asuka, the performance was amazing... I couldn't stop crying."

"Keep up the good work in Tokyo! We'll always support you!"

"Thank you for everything these past three years..."

People came in droves, asking for photos, offering blessings, or simply wanting to say a few more words. An and Asuka showed no impatience. He smiled and earnestly took photos with everyone and responded to every word. He knew that these classmates, who might not have interacted much on a regular basis, were expressing their feelings in a simple way, cherishing their three years of school time, and offering their most direct recognition and blessings for him.

Marina, Shizuka, and Hoshino Ai are surrounded by their own circles of friends. Laughter, tears, words of advice, and promises intertwine, composing the most genuine and moving symphony of farewell in the springtime schoolyard.

Hanami Anna and Himegami Karen stood under a cherry blossom tree a little further away, watching the figure in the center of the crowd.

"He's really popular," Himegami Karen said softly, her tone devoid of jealousy, only a faint sigh of admiration.

“He always has been.” Anna’s gaze was fixed on An and Asuka as if drawn by a magnet. She watched him listen patiently, saw his warm and sincere smile, and saw the unchanging, serene gentleness in his eyes.

He was about to leave this small town for the bustling and distant Tokyo. She, on the other hand, would stay here, continuing her ordinary life. After a brief intersection, the two paths were now stretching out in completely different directions.

Her heart felt like it was blocked by something, a dull ache. She took a deep breath, the air filled with the sweet scent of cherry blossoms, but it couldn't dispel the knot of sorrow. Then, she took Himegami Karen's hand, her voice trying to sound cheerful: "Let's go, let's go... and leave a memento."

"Happy graduation, Asuka," said Anna, trying to smile.

“You too,” An and Asuka said with a smile, naturally opening their arms.