Everyone thinks Su Wan is stupid.
Instead of being a good Prime Minister and Madam, she had to guard a barren grave for the rest of her life.
Only Su Wan herself knows:
On that spring night seventy-seven years ago, when he put his head on her shoulder, she had already been married once.
Her husband's name is Yanchen.
Life is called an inkstone, death becomes dust.
The cherry blossoms bloom every year, but he never really leaves.
Intention: This inkstone is not that inkstone.
It writes about the innocence and purity of ignorant first love, and also writes about the longing and regret between life and death.
Looking back seventy-seven years ago, it seems like it was yesterday. The cherry blossoms on the inkstone still look like those days.