As the Dingyou year gasped like an old man near the end of life, I felt, as usual, that I should write something. With time, my writing has become increasingly clumsy, to the point that I can no longer even come up with a decent title. So I will boldly borrow a line from Bei Dao for now. Why this title? I will explain later. On the last day of the old year, Wuhu finally had a proper haze. In the morning, as I rode alone to school, I could not see the library hidden in the thick fog. There was a faint, almost imperceptible chemical smell in my nose, and only then did I realize winter had arrived. Unlike intermittent ice ages, winter comes every year, sometimes early and sometimes late, sometimes gentle and sometimes fierce. But in its reliability, in the fact that it always keeps its appointment, it deserves some praise. ...