Life is a play, and you are the protagonist of the play. The people around you interpret different worldly experiences.
The long love between sons and daughters, the light of swords and blood shadows in the prosperous ages of Kangxi and Qianlong are deeply imprinted on our hearts like totems. From then on, the world has changed forever. With the rise and fall of the Qing Dynasty, they were sealed in gray and yellow archives. When I open it again, I still sigh. Life is just a mirror, and when we are dying, it is gently brushed away and buried by history like dust. How much tenderness and truth can truly be remembered by us is unknown to everyone.
Trivial memories, trivial memories, everything seems to be blurred. But I would rather record them one by one with a pen. Looking back, I can say brilliantly that we were in our prime at that time...