This is a story about waiting. Waiting for someone to come, waiting for someone to go back, waiting for an answer that you are not sure about.
The water of Forget River never dries up, and the sweet-scented osmanthus blooms every year. Someone was ladling out bowl after bowl of soup at Naihe Bridge, but never drank it.
Someone planted an osmanthus tree in the human world, waiting for a child to come home. There are also people who are guarding a stick of incense in the underworld, waiting for a chance to atone their sins.
Did they wait?
Maybe.
Intention: Because someone is waiting, someone will come. It will be worth the wait because someone will come.