I crossed the Xu River in late autumn, but no one would cross the river after the You hour.
Shen Qingci, a scholar in blue shirt, rushed to take the exam and missed his dormitory. He broke the centuries-old rules of the ferry and rode a black canopy into the cold wave.
When the boat reaches the middle of the river, there are hands buckling the sides, which are green and white like jade, and the anemones on the wrists reflect the lights; the hairpins are wrapped around the algae, and the peach carvings are white, hiding the obsession that has not disappeared for twenty years.
That was Miss Su who was sinking in the autumn water, waiting for a love hairpin and someone returning home.
It turns out that the taboo at Dutou was never about evil spirits seeking their lives, but just a pair of lovers who had been guarding each other for half their lives despite the cold waves.
The autumn night at Jiangnan Ferry always hides the gentlest ghosts and the most sad thoughts.
