In the early morning light, raindrops fall from the corners of the eaves along the gaps between the bricks and tiles, carving out small grooves on the stone steps day after day; the vines grow along the mottled old wall, not as fast as the wind and rain, but quietly winding with soft tendrils, eventually forming a verdant green screen. The power of perseverance is like this long stream of water, carving out the miracle of time in a silent place.
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
