When I found a gold-gilt diary in the attic of my old house during the rainy season, I smelled the moist scent of osmanthus between the pages.
>"At the beginning of summer in 1943, I met a girl wearing a moon-white cheongsam." The pen handwriting spread out and was signed by Lin Zhe, a watch repairman.
>When the old man at the end of the alley was rubbing his diary, his pocket watch always stopped at 3:17.
>The faded hosta in the glass cabinet was exactly the same as the one he described in the girl's hair.
>Fifty-seven letters returned to Taiwan were moldy and the stamps were blurred for half a century.
>"Father said that when delivering information, he would always see her tracing patterns in the attic."
>In the photo, the girl in school uniform is standing under the sweet-scented osmanthus tree, her eyebrows and eyebrows are very much like my grandmother who always muttered to the empty photo frame.
>"I promised to come back when the sweet-scented osmanthus blooms," my grandmother's dying words have haunted me for many years.
>When I put the hosta on my grandmother's tombstone, the autumn wind brought Wu Yu murmuring——
>Like the sound of an old pocket watch moving again.
