Weak Water Three Thousand, Finally Waiting for You

In the first life, he was a young master and a book boy. After three years of companionship, love arose secretly. But this world can't tolerate him and him. He jumped into the river, he hung from the beam. Before he died, he said: In the next life, we will be together again. In his second life, he was an exiled teacher and a young reporter at a newspaper. Reunion in the ancient street, an oil-paper umbrella, seems like a world away. They fell in love in the flames of war and parted under the bayonet. He clutched the note: Live well. He kept it for fifty years. In the third life, they are actors, acting out their own stories. Under the eaves of the ancient street, he handed me an umbrella and said, "Come on." This time, there is no etiquette, no war, no separation of life and death. They can finally accompany each other openly. I have been waiting for three lifetimes, just for this scoop. The intertwining of cruelty and sweetness, the love of three generations. The first two lives made you cry, and the third life made you laugh and cry.