In 1935, I fled from my deep home in Jinling to the water town, where I met a girl who was holding a awning boat. Her palms were rough and she was humming an off-key tune, but it gave me a freshness that I had never experienced in the first half of my life. We agreed to elope and escape to a tomorrow without war. In the early summer of 1938, I was on the train for an appointment, and she was waiting in the awning boat at the pier. Later, when the war was over and the sweet-scented osmanthus bloomed every year, I became her embroidery on her old purse, a dream that would never fade.
Purpose: To write about the pure love and steadfastness between women in the war years, where small love turns into big love, and courage and freedom last until death.