In March in the south of the Yangtze River, mist and rain linger.
She was holding an oil-paper umbrella and standing on the stone bridge. It was not her old friend who was waiting for her, but him who, with a chill all over his body, picked her up without any explanation and threw her back into his cage.
It's too late to please now.
His sarcasm was like a needle, but she just buried herself quietly in his arms without saying a word.
In the courtyard of the deep house, the warm jade bathtub, the fox green gauze tent, all the luxury was given by him, and all the loneliness was also given by him.
She never came here to please, she just had nowhere to go.
Concept: In the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, there are unspoken thoughts hidden.