The albizia flowers in the courtyard are about to bloom again, and the fine petals are carried by the spring breeze and fall on the cobblestone path. Year after year, it is like an old dream that repeats but refuses to wake up.
The wind chimes, washed white by the rain, swayed among the branches, as if they were the belated murmurs of an old friend.
It is waiting for the arrival of early spring, and Shen Xu is also waiting, waiting for a spring that will never come.
Intention: Waiting is also a kind of silent companionship