★Talented young writer continues to weave dreams and poetry, a book for the spiritual growth of China's post-90s generation.
★A genuine youth diary, recording the warmth of growth: With delicate diary-style prose, it captures the details of high school life — laughter, worries, friendships, and dreams — presenting the unadorned essence of youth.
★With concise and lively language, it strings together everyday fragments of the classroom, clubs, stages, and more into poetry, uncovering the beauty of life in the ordinary and conveying a warm and healing power.

This is a long essay in diary form, recording the author's daily life, friendships, and moods during high school through light and simple language. All the beautiful and happy moments are written here, as well as all the sad and troubling memories. It is not just a youth diary; it might be more aptly called an unembellished story.
Classrooms, clubs, literature, stages, bands, guitars, and basses... Youth is merely the backdrop, friendship is the framework, and growth is the detail. What the author truly wants to express and tell is about the spiritual insights and the beautiful, bright world contained in the mundane everyday life.

Bachelor of Dramatic Literature from the Central Academy of Drama, Master of Film Theory and Practice from Newcastle University in the United Kingdom, and a member of the China Writers Association. She is currently a screenwriter.

Her published works include the "Youth Trilogy" (the novel " Intermittent Footsteps", the poetry collection "The Invisible Wind Blows", and the essay collection " Like a Pumpkin, Growing Silently"); the essay collection " Like Mist"; the short story collection "Whose Dreams in the Dream"; the long fantasy novel "The Young Simon and the Tamed Reindeer Lyka"; the long youth novel" Running Towards the Sun"; the picture book "The Cherry Tree"; and the "Zhang Mudi Fantasy Literature Series" (including "The Mirror in the Sky", "The Forest of Summer", "The Kite Lantern That Flew Away with the Wind", "The Night-Light Bird, Grandpa’s Secret Theatre", "Miss Qiu’s Clothing Store", and "The Bear Living on the Roof").
She has been honored with the title of one of the Top Ten Young Golden Writers by "Children’s Literature", the Excellence Award in the Fairy Tale Contest by "Oriental Children", the Taiwan Mudi Award, the Jin Jin Award by "Children’s Literature", and the Silver Award in the Hot Spring Cup Fairy Tale Contest by "Children’s Literature". Five of the books in the "Zhang Mudi Fantasy Literature Series" have been selected for the "National Hundred Classes and Thousand People Shared Reading List"; The Mirror in the Sky has been included in “Shanghai’s Good Children’s Books”; and "Miss Qiu’s Clothing Store" has been selected for the National Close-to-Mother Tongue Graded Reading List.

September 1st
As the day of school's return approaches, a faint sense of something akin to bewilderment always washes over me.
The wind chime hanging in front of the window has broken, and the scattered fragments on the floor resemble a jumble of thoughts, piercing through all the silence in an instant.
The sky, the clouds, and the crisp scent of rain are the world I see when I open the window, the happiness I wish to hold on to.
Below the window, there are many plants: peach trees, jujube trees, citrus, pomegranates, crabapples, luffas, night-blooming jasmine, morning glories, sunflowers, and roses. Every early dawn, they carry the coolness of the night and the drowsy haze of just waking up, bustling yet lonely.
In the corner of the wall, there are three natural locust trees. One has already withered, while the other two grow more robust with the passage of time. Every May, the fragrance of flowers flows like a gentle stream from the depths of the heart.
Sparrows forage on the ground, so close to people. The sun, with its deepening golden hue, opens the flower petals.
Looking back on the first year of high school, the first thing that comes to mind is the tree outside the window, with its pink and white flowers blooming profusely in spring.
For a 17-year-old, a tree that withers and flourishes may have more reason to be remembered than the textbooks on the desk.
As for the things that have happened and been felt deep inside, along with the people in memory, they all ended when I left.
After the separation of arts and science classes, the classroom I was in moved from the fifth floor to the first floor, shattering my hope of losing weight by climbing stairs.
The hallway became more bustling. Those unfamiliar voices roared like ocean waves in my ears.
The contours of time folded up, heavy and hanging in the heart, like secrets unknown to others, silently dissolving the past.
Time, like a ladle of water, reflects the old faces. We spend our youth in the constantly repeating moments, experiencing its brilliance and its pallor.
Sitting alone in a dim corner, letting emotions pile up. The blind light penetrates the undulating sorrow, retracing the past.
Monsoons and first snow. Fireworks and amusement parks. A thousand cities' flowers blooming, cut into a thousand stories' plots.
The wind seeps through the thin patterns, and white birds cover the sky.
The thoughts hidden in the heart seem to be the only comfort, yet they are as vague and indistinguishable as any wasted youth.
This is really contradictory.