This winter, the old man lived an unusually peaceful life. An increasingly intense feeling began to slowly come closer. On this day, the old man asked the market boy to bring him two pieces of charcoal and light them in a basin in the house. In the depth of winter, bursts of nameless fragrance emerged from the shimmering locust fire. The old man sat on an armchair in the hall, tapping the corner of the table back and forth with his wrinkled palms until dawn.
The fire of Sophora japonica is extinguished and the cold air disappears.