It's getting dark, but the faint smell of silk threads still lingers in the "Jinxiu Fang" in the outer city of Bianjing.
Lin Daiqing put down the last embroidery needle and rubbed her sore and swollen eyes.
After staying up for three nights in a row to make a piece of "Butterflies Wearing Flowers", I finally had some free time.
She stretched her body, her bones rattled, and without caring about anything else, she crouched and slipped out of the embroidery workshop.
The setting sun stretched her shadow like a tired bird eager to escape from its cage.
The old locust tree at the corner is her only secret place.
This tree has accompanied her through countless dusk, and also hides her longing for Cuju.
Under the old locust tree, people were crowded, and the cheers and shouts were so loud that they could deafen the ears.
