Daffodils Bloom

About This Novel

When I got up early to fold the quilt, Narcissus picked up more than a dozen fallen hairs on the pillow towel, some black and some white. It's white like white silk thread used for embroidery, sparkling and shiny. It's black, but it's not really black. It's as if it has rolled in the soil and is dusty. She sighed softly, balled them up, opened the stove cover, and threw them into the stove. With a "pop" sound, the smell of burnt wool suddenly came out of the stove, and the fever in my hair disappeared. Narcissus couldn't remember when he started to have gray hair. At first, there were only a few sporadic hairs, but gradually, more and more became the norm. From a distance, it looked like a layer of white frost had fallen on his head.

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