Some love is silent by nature.
It's not because you dare not say it, it's because if you say it, you will never have a chance again.
The fifteenth year of the Republic of China, Peking.
A grand funeral.
The coffin was made of fine nanmu, and the shroud was a plain cheongsam sewn by hand. The woman in the coffin had a peaceful face, as if she had just fallen asleep. The man standing next to the coffin was dressed in black and did not shed a single tear from beginning to end. He just stood there, like a stone statue, like a monument.
People said that it was Wu Chengyuan, the young marshal of the Wu family. People said that he sent away a girl named Jiang. People said that the way he looked at her was strange - not like looking at someone he had just met, but like someone he had been looking for for a long time, finally found and then lost forever.
No one knew that this funeral was the final chapter of a story.
This is a story about identity - who are you, defined by your memory or your heart?
This is a story about lies - when the entire existence is a lie spun by someone else, is love the only real thing?
This is a story about choice - when fate turns you into a knife that stabs your lover, will you choose to be a knife, or will you choose to break yourself?
There is no sound when the Tang flowers fall.
But with every petal falling to the ground, there is an unspoken word——
"I love you."
Concept: Memories can be erased, but sincerity cannot be tampered with. Who a person is is not defined by others, but by his own choices.