The snow in Chang'an has been falling for three years, and the ink in the inkstone has condensed and melted. She took off her hairpin, tied up her black hair, and stepped into the ranks of the green-shirted guests as a man. The imperial examination hall inside the red wall is a net woven with pen and ink, and it is also a ladder for poor scholars to ask questions. She is holding a wolf hair, and what she writes is the edge of policy, the grace of poetry, and the thoughts of her daughter that no one knows. The candlelight above the golden palace flickered, and the gaze in front of the throne seemed to be able to penetrate the layers of disguise. She lowered her eyes, and ran her fingertips over the lines of the test paper. The unwillingness hidden in the plainness, and the lonely courage hidden in the meaning of the scriptures, all turned into the fragrance of ink and scattered in the wind of Chang'an. She was walking on the long road of fame, with the glory of lotus growing step by step on one side, and the makeup of her daughter behind the paper window on the other. When the drums for unveiling the announcement resounded through the streets, she realized that this paper full of beauty would eventually tear a gap of her own in the eyes of the world.
