The story of "A Liang of Snow" is like a silver ingot dipped in blood and warmth, heavy, but the light shines through at the end.
Ah Jin's silence hides a lot of strength, from the cowardice of holding on to half a silver ingot to the determination of holding up the dark pattern cloth to face the evildoer, the weaving shuttle in her hand has truly become a weapon sharper than a knife. Under Zhou Wei's warmth was still warm blood, and Butcher Wei's fierce look was wrapped in obsession with his brother. Even old Zhi Po's blind eyes could clearly see the weight of the word "people's brocade".
The most touching thing is the thoughts hidden in the dark patterns of the silver ingots - the snow-patterned brocade that the father did not say, the "survival money" collected by the weavers, which in the end turned into the warm snow covering the slums. It turns out that a tael of silver can never redeem a life, but what can redeem a person's heart is those who refuse to accept their fate and use their own glimmers of light to light up the fire in the cold winter.
The Jiangnan in the story has musty rain and warm snow. When I close the book, I seem to be able to see the dark patterns on the snow-patterned brocade glowing, like countless silver ingots with the word "jin" paving a road in the snow. [Note][Bookshelf plus one]
The story of "A Liang of Snow" is like a silver ingot dipped in blood and warmth, heavy, but the light shines through at the end. Ah Jin's silence hides a lot of strength, from the cowardice of holding on to half a silver ingot to the determination of holding up the dark pattern cloth to face the evildoer, the weaving shuttle in her hand has truly become a weapon sharper than a knife. Under Zhou Wei's warmth was still warm blood, and Butcher Wei's fierce look was wrapped in obsession with his brother. Even old Zhi Po's blind eyes could clearly see the weight of the word "people's brocade". The most touching thing is the thoughts hidden in the dark patterns of the silver ingots - the snow-patterned brocade that the father did not say, the "survival money" collected by the weavers, which in the end turned into the warm snow covering the slums. It turns out that a tael of silver can never redeem a life, but what can redeem a person's heart is those who refuse to accept their fate and use their own glimmers of light to light up the fire in the cold winter. The Jiangnan in the story has musty rain and warm snow. When I close the book, I seem to be able to see the dark patterns on the snow-patterned brocade glowing, like countless silver ingots with the word "jin" paving a road in the snow. [Note][Bookshelf plus one]