Song Xiaohua is like a little flower growing on the wall, persevering. When we first met, it was she who broke into the world where the forest had long withered with the freedom and freshness of a little flower and the soft light of the warm sun.
From then on, the weeds that no one cared about had their own spring.
They accompany each other, grow with each other, and find each other the meaning of living.
The last, the last...
The small flowers of weeds remain in spring forever, and from now on the small flowers only bloom in spring.
