In Shanghai that year, sycamore leaves fell all over Shikumen. She wrote poems in small regular script, and he drew architectural sketches, thinking that no matter how long the troubled times lasted, they would never last more than a lifetime.
Then she didn't wait until spring. He took her diary with him through Hangzhou, Fujian, and Yunnan, and saw off another girl at the Erhai Lake.
Seventy years later, the wind from Erhai Lake blew into the ancient city of Dali. His grandson opened a door, and behind the door stood a girl taking pictures.
Some stories, after waiting for two generations, finally come to a conclusion.
Mission: Affection and inheritance across the ages, cherish what you love