The earth is the bed and the sky is the quilt. The moonlight is the mother's soft tears, gently dripping on the girl's eye sockets. The thin clouds are blown by the wind, which is the pushing hand of the grandma, covering the mother and wiping the girl's tears.
She comforted herself that maybe all this should be attributed to the four distinct seasons and the dead leaves falling, so she thought of that autumn's farewell without saying goodbye.
But she just couldn't live without hatred. She hated that the pines and cypresses were ever green and the peach blossoms were no longer green... She hated that she was as ruthless as her mother and thought of him endlessly, a bastard who was not a human being.
Intention: Be a good person and have your own way out