What I remember most about my mother is the legend of Qixi Festival. On the night of Chinese Valentine's Day when I was five years old, while my mother was embroidering a picture of pear blossoms with dew in the morning clouds, Lu Qingqing, I, and I looked up to admire the moon.
The Queen Mother did not draw the Milky Way, it was the Weaver Girl herself who pulled out the hairpin and drew the Milky Way. She would rather see her only once a year, but it would last forever. If we enter the heavenly palace together, we may not be able to see each other again.
My mother seemed to see my doubts. She touched my head and said with a smile: "You will know when you enter the palace, right?" After a pause, she added: "If so, you should never know."
My mother said, "Be well, be well, I just want you to be well, do you understand?"
Many years passed.
It's Chinese Valentine's Day again, and standing next to me is the Queen Mother.
I said respectfully: "Mother, did you laugh at the morning glory on Chinese Valentine's Day back then?"
The Queen Mother took the Chaoyun Ninglu pear blossom handkerchief I embroidered, wiped her ears and said, "I have forgotten about Chinese Valentine's Day."
There are so many poems written about Chinese Valentine's Day. When the golden wind and jade dew meet, they surpass countless others in the world. As for me, the door is closed behind the pear blossoms caused by the rain.