That year the fire in Chibi burned for three days and three nights.
In the autumn of the fifteenth year of Jian'an, she was waiting for a man to come back in Chaisang.
After waiting for seven days, a coffin arrived.
If the song is wrong, Zhou Lang will take care of it. But that night, he was the one who made the wrong sound.
What was he thinking when he looked back at her?
——Did he see a chess piece, or Xie Jinchu?
She knelt thirty feet away, her palms bleeding, counting the sounds of the wheels.
After counting to one thousand and ninety-five, she opened her eyes.
Some rivers never reach their mouths.
Some people spend a lifetime weaving a name.
Intention: A person's process of finding himself