Yueshan Has Loved You for a Hundred Years

Zhou Ping's eucalyptus is like a mountain, a barren mountain that is dead and devoid of spring. But it was this dead, barren mountain that Xu Shuqing fell in love with year after year. In the air-raid shelter amid the flames of war, Xu Shuqing was trembling all over, and a pair of big hands grasped her cold hand. "Zhou Pingyu, I want you to be safe." In the foggy Qingshan Martyrs Cemetery, Xu Shuqing raised her hand and touched the small square statue. The breeze blew by and the green pines all over the mountain rustled. "Zhou Pingyu, I can't do such a thing as dying for love, but I will still love you in the next hundred years." As the war raged in Gao, Mali, West Africa, Xu Shuqing, who was thousands of miles away, could only survive with a tofu-sized page in a military newspaper. I forget when she started making her birthday wishes to a man named Zhou Pingyu. "Bodhisattva, I want Zhou Pinggu to be safe and sound." After turning thirty, she could no longer make this wish. She no longer celebrates her birthday, but every February 18th, the Qingshan Martyrs Cemetery in Beijing hosts an unidentified woman. She always brings a bouquet of white lisianthus and stays in front of a tombstone for a long time. No one knew her identity, only that there were guards guarding her not far or near. This book is also called "A Hundred Years of Loving You Over the Mountain" and "Her Bitter Moon". The barren mountains without spring are him, and the bitter moon hanging far away in the sky is also him.