Three years ago, Xu Qingwan discovered the photo on the bottom of Ji Mianzhou's box on the eve of her wedding - another woman's name was written on the back. She chose silence and married him.
Six months after her marriage, she found a ticket to that city in her suit pocket and a ring engraved with "N·S" in her study drawer. She didn't question, she just pulled out the first gray hair one morning, drove and took out the itinerary from four years ago that said "ticket refunded".
After the divorce, she moved to Jiangnan Lane. Neighbor Lu Shinian puts a hyacinth at the door every day, and his dog rests its chin on her knee. She picked up the paintbrush again and painted hyacinths, loquat trees, and the bluestone road. Ji Mianzhou started writing letters, one after another, and locked them in the deepest part of the safe, writing that he missed the tomato scrambled eggs she made. The last sentence of the fifty-second letter is: "Thank you for letting me know that you can add sugar or not to tomato scrambled eggs."
That spring, Xu Qingwan became pregnant. Three days later, Ji Mianzhou's car drove off the shoulder at a curve on Huanshan Road - he drove at a constant speed for twelve minutes, covering the entire distance from "reluctantly" to "willingly".
This is a story about farewell and rebirth. The flower language of hyacinth is "rebirth of love", and some people spend the rest of their lives proving that it is true to have loved, and it is also true to have ended, but it is even more true to start over.
Too pretentious, words, characters