This is a story about two people who were repeatedly separated, reunited repeatedly, and finally arrived. It starts with a copper button and ends with the sentence "We've arrived."
The snow in the late Tang Dynasty, the flowers in the late Song Dynasty, the embroidery thread in the Ming Dynasty, the deep moon in the Qing Dynasty, the date stones in the near future, the mountains and plains of the Republic of China and modern and contemporary cities - in the seven lives, they met as generals and soldiers, uncles and nieces, embroiderers and ladies, eunuchs and palace maids, gene editors and natural people, mountain girls and screen actors. They were close to each other in each life, and stopped at a certain action in each life. Stopping doesn't mean they don't love each other, it's that time, identity, body or cognition prevent them from moving forward.
Guixu is an eternal dusk reconstructed with data. They finished reading the files of the seventh generation there, and after a long gap, they finally made up for the words that had not been spoken for several lifetimes. Finally, they sat under a jujube tree they planted, no longer rushing or chasing the next life.
It writes about the fact that "the probability of missing is far greater than meeting", and how even so, someone still salvaged it seven times from the vast void. It's hard to say whether this is fate or luck, but they said: we're here.
Intent: This is a story about "the probability of missing is far greater than meeting". Even so, they still fished it out from the vast void seven times. "