When Tang Xiaoyu was thirty years old, he quit his job in Beijing and went to Chaxi Village in Dali, Yunnan alone.
She doesn't have any grand plans. Just wanted to stop.
There is a B&B in Chaxi Village called Tingshan Courtyard. There are wisteria trellises in the yard, tea fields on the mountains, and a stone road at the entrance of the village. At the end of the road, there are a group of people living their own lives.
She stayed. Helping take care of the B&B, learning to make flower cakes, learning to make cherry wine from my grandma, and watching the number of children in the bookstore increase every week.
Jiang Yu is from here. He manages the tea mountain and runs a B&B. He wants to share everything with her. He even wants to talk to her about things he hasn't figured out yet.
Nothing earth-shattering happened.
It's just that the days are passing day by day - some people come, some people go, some people stay, some people come back.
The wind blows from the mountains, passing through orchards, passing tea fields, and passing everyone who lives seriously here.
Then keep blowing.
Gently.
But it has come.
You know.
