We first met each other with a silk handkerchief in the alley, and when they met again as adults, he was the editor-in-chief who was burning with revolutionary fire, and she was an overseas doctor who ran a silk and satin shop. The red silk wedding certificate has not faded, and the riots tore each other apart, leaving each other wide.
He cultivates spring with his pen, and she protects her life with medicine and silk, both looking forward to seeing each other again. In the end, the gunshot broke the promise, and she fell on the blood-stained satin, clutching the fragment of the prescription with his name written on it. The secrets hidden in those silks and the concerns in the words have become the pain that no one can relieve when I wake up in spring. Spring has come, and those who wait for spring will always stay in the cold winter.
