The sun casts its afterglow lazily, mottled with poetry.
The man in white sleeping on the rattan bed had a peaceful face, his eyes were indifferent and unstained by dust, and his long hair fell to the ground.
It's like a splashing ink waterfall.
A young man with white hair reaching his shoulders knelt silently on one knee beside him. He carefully took his hand and held it tightly in his calloused palm, devoutly like a pilgrim. His always cold eyes were filled with warmth and shallowness, like a blurred ink painting.
The wind blows up the colorful bead curtain.
He lowered his head to the sleeping man's ear, and saw his thin lips opening and closing slightly, and slowly said three words.
As if afraid of waking him up, it was incredibly gentle.
What did you say?
Scattered in the wind.