She has been wandering around in the jungle of steel and concrete for many years. The mechanical rhythm of nine-to-five and the emptiness and resignation of people have gradually covered her once vivid heart with dust. When her body sounded the alarm of exhaustion, she resolutely quit her high-paying job and returned to her old rural home with a dusty body. The somewhat desolate fields next to the old house became her refuge from the hustle and bustle, and unexpectedly became the starting point for self-exploration. The pain of bending down to sow seeds during spring plowing, the tranquility of listening to frogs croaking in summer nights, the solidity of holding ears of grain during autumn harvest, and the accumulation of reading around the stove during winter leisure, allowed her to slowly remove the labels given by the outside world through her close contact with the land. The simple care between neighbors, the occasional small frictions, the obsession with the past workplace, and the confusion about the future are all dismantled one by one in the rhythm of sunrise and sunset. She heard her inner voice in the wind in the fields, and saw the meaning of existence in the traces of crop growth. She gradually understood that the so-called self was never success defined by others, but the courage to stay gentle with life itself in the ordinary fireworks.
