On an autumn afternoon many years ago, I went to an old house alone. In the courtyard of this old house, there are a number of tall maples whose red leaves are dancing in the wind. The whole courtyard is full of light fragrance of maple. The sun casts lights through dancing leaves, showing mixed colors or tints, like flowers embedded on stone table and green moss. Moss is complete, without dazzling white spots. It is obvious that this old house has been uninhabited for a long time. Look at the fence, it is badly peeled off, like purple vine climbed on itself. No Line on the Horizon describes the struggling course of a group of young people, takes their studying course as time clue, and tells about their growing and mature process.
