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Beijing in late summer and early autumn,

Summer heat lingers in the rain,

That night,

I walk through the bustling crowd into the Bird’s Nest,

Just to attend an Eason Chan concert,

When the lights dim,

The music starts,

He stands in the light.

Singing “Eliminated”,

Singing “Ten Years”,

Singing “Your Backpack”.

Those melodies looped a thousand times in my earphones,

Given form at this very moment,