In the late spring of that year, Lu Yizhi, the son of the minister, avoided marriage in the suburbs of Beijing. He happened to see Lin Yingxi, a girl from the south of the Yangtze River fishing barefoot in a mountain stream. Her smile was as bright as the spring sun, shining into his life that was imprisoned by family interests.
We traveled together for a month and secretly fell in love. He made a promise of marriage, but she soberly declined. The resistance resulted in even more brutal repression: silence in the lake, imprisonment in suspended animation, and alternative lives. She lost her memory and was living in exile, while his tomb was guarded alone.
Seven years later, the cold shopkeeper of Linglong Pavilion in the capital was none other than her who was "dead". Next to the new grave in Jiangnan, "Mr. Lu", who practiced medicine to help the world, lived like what she once was.
From the grievances of rich families to the smoke of small town, from the ice of sinking lake to the reunion in spring. This love that spanned life, death and mistakes finally found its home in benevolence and goodwill.
"I thought you were married and had children, and were happy."
"I thought you were unlucky and had forgotten your old feelings."
After looking at each other for a thousand miles, it turned out that we were both wrong - but fortunately, it was not too late.
