It's always a scene like this, in that little carved window. Under the warm yellow light, there is a gentle woman in plain clothes. There is such a faint smile deep in the lowered eyelids. There is a small tassel on the loose bun, and there is such a small silver needle between the slender jade fingers. Stitch by stitch, he threaded the needle and thread peacefully, carefully adding delicate stitches to the silky satin in his hand. The elegant silhouette under the window is so peaceful and beautiful in the clear light of the first quarter moon.
It seems that he is always sewing and mending something seriously, and there is an unknown fragrance floating vaguely in the air. The subtle fragrance flows in the quiet night, and there are the lingering figures of red fire butterflies. That is...
In the wilderness where flowers bloom in the afterlife, whose face is it and whose three lives are it?