A thin layer of smoke hangs over the town. The simple buildings with white walls and black tiles are like undressed girls, standing gracefully by the river. The light ink sky and the jagged stone arch bridges are blended together, with ripples. A sad boat floated aimlessly on the river, blurred, like a drop of ink slowly seeping into the rice paper, slowly becoming blurred, leaving only a light ink color.
In the Republic of China, the classical temperament has not faded, but the modern style has been interpreted. Everything is classic and fresh. Women who were once social appendages have begun to use their independent thinking to subvert this traditional world. During the troubled years of the Republic of China, there was a group of women who were born into wealthy families, but they wrote a generation of legends with their reserve, elegance, beauty and wisdom. In that era of war and chaos, society was full of temptations. Even if you were temporarily depressed, you still had the courage to live strong.
In this hazy mist, the beautiful past is like a sunset flower quietly blooming in the morning and fading in the morning. Your face and quiet whispers come as promised. The past is like rolls of old black and white tape slowly unfolding in front of me. . . .