Gu Yunian, the second son of the Gu family in the south of the Yangtze River, has been exchanging letters with Miss Mu Linghe from the Mu family in the capital for two years, and they have made an appointment to go north in the late spring to get married. He didn't come. It was his twin brother Gu Yunsong who came.
Gu Yunsong handed over an ink bamboo painting, saying it was his brother's last handwriting. Mu Linghe accepted it. She didn't know what was hidden in that painting, she only knew that the person in front of her had the same face as the person she had been waiting for for two years in her letter.
But she also knew that they were different.
One is dead. One is still alive. And she was slowly unable to tell whether it was the handwriting on the twenty-odd letters that she couldn't bear to part with, or the hesitant gaze of the person who painted her deceased brother's picture while standing under the lamp and looking at her.
Concept: The words on the letter paper that seem to belong to one person may have been written by another person for him. When you can't tell the difference, it's better to look at the stitches. The stitches won't lie for anyone.