If it had rained as it used to, the children playing basketball and the teenagers on skateboards would certainly have gone home. On this heavily polluted planet, acid rain was what everyone hated most. But there had been little rain these past few days; what fell were snowflakes. Why would they care? They happily kept playing, and some of the boys even took off their shirts, sprinting through the snowflakes, their laughter growing louder instead.
The sound of a harmonica came from the distance, surfacing and fading amid the laughter and noisy squabbling.
Several teenagers waiting their turn on the skateboards followed the sound and saw the Blue-Robed Youth on the wall.
There was nothing wrong with either the pitch or rhythm of the Blue-Robed Youth's harmonica playing. The problem was that it was too precise, making it sound strongly mechanical and imitative, not particularly pleasing to the ear. One might also say it lacked a certain ease, or perhaps a certain artistry? But in any case, amid snowflakes falling from the sky, a lonely boy playing a harmonica atop an abandoned wall was indeed a scene that could easily move people. Those teenagers were still very young, yet even they felt some inexplicable emotions stirring.
"Why are you still playing basketball!"
"Don't think it's harmless just because it's snow. It's just as corrosive when it melts! Especially you lot, playing without your shirts! Are you trying to get yourselves killed!"
"Hurry up, pack your things and go home. Those who need to review their lessons, go review them! Wait until the snow stops to play!"
The laughter, arguments, harmonica music, and the happy, excited, inexplicable emotions were all broken by a stern voice.
The speaker was a woman in her forties. Though her voice was stern, her expression was