But I still remember the green plum season, under the sweet-scented osmanthus tree, two figures, one dressed in crescent moon white, the other dressed in green plum blossoms, playing a flute and talking about a piano, a match made in heaven. She, who was waiting in the boudoir, thought that this life would be his. He, stepping into the battlefield, thought that he would be able to marry his beloved in triumph. But in the end, they could not escape the trick of fate. He drifted away for his city, and she drifted away for her home. Who hurt whose request? Who hurt whose heart? Years later, they will regret and decide where to go...