The story of a girl wearing a book borrowing her identity from a willow branch to inspire and cultivate immortality. The dusk closes gently, and a coolness reaches the fingers, which touches the pure wisdom. A Zen spirit interprets the joys and sorrows of life, and the sound of Zen plays the spring flowers and autumn moon of life. The withered leaves are finally a mass of entangled veins. Each leaf is plain white, losing the winter charm. A drop of rain and dew is covered with letter paper. Sitting upright under the night, standing on tiptoe, I recall the distant memories. The ground is filled with brocade-like light, rippling with tender colors like water.
Seasonal reincarnation plays out, some things in the past begin to turn yellow, some people come and go, and some people are never seen again. A string of wind sounds wash away the lead, just like duckweeds gathering and scattering, gradually floating to the end of the world. The little bits of sadness burned in my heart are slowly filtered out, and a beautiful arc is drawn to frame a picture full of colors and thoughts, filling in the rhythm of seven colors in turn. The distance in youth, the pain accumulated in life, entangled with the soul, a thousand times, three thousand prosperity, looking back, it is just a dream.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
