What is perfection? Is it the flowers in spring, the moon in autumn, the cool breeze in summer, and the snow in winter? Is it the arc of the rain falling? Is it the posture of the flowers blooming? The sixteen-year-old cardamom girl is kind and polite to others, she is calm, she is quiet... All the beautiful characters seem to be reflected in her body. It seems that she knows everything, and there seems to be nothing she can't do... Just like a god, a perfect god. Breaking away from mundane "perfectionism", she seems to be the symbol of perfection. But is this really the case? Does perfection really exist? Are there really perfect people? Disguise? Or is it true... Unknown
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