It was snowing in Suzhou in 1928, and nine-year-old Yin Sujuan moved into the neighboring courtyard of the Wei family with her piano in her arms. Inside the window, she played "Yangguan Three Pieces" and he played the beads and counted the sounds.
Love, life and separation, constant misses, fate plays tricks on people.
In the past eighty years, our family and country have been broken and reunited several times. He crossed the sea to do business, married a wife and had daughters, but he planted a crabapple on the top of Xiangjiang Mountain every year. She threw herself into the flames of war and never married. She only hid fifty-three unsent letters deep in a hole in the wall: "Brother Zhenhua is like meeting each other, and seeing words is like seeing face to face."
War, separation, turmoil, straits. Mountains and rivers are shattered, and beacons are scattered. He went to Hong Kong to get married and start a business, but he planted a crabapple on Victoria Peak every year and named his daughter "Begonia". She devoted herself to cultural salvation and traveled to half of China. She never married and adopted the orphan of a martyr named "Nianhua".
They missed the glass showcase at the Canton Fair and the agreement made on the eve of Hong Kong's return to China, but when the fireworks of the Beijing Olympics were blooming, they recognized each other tremblingly across the sea of people.
It turns out that some love takes a lifetime to form. Some love is eternal when it is formed.
"Eighty years is not too late for this love to be formed."
