Hair Like Snow

My hair is like snow, my tears are flying, who am I waiting for to grow old? The sun rises and sets in the small sky of Baiyun Town. Twenty-five-year-old Mo Qiniang sits on the threshold of Yunlong Inn every day, waiting for a man named Ji Xingfeng. On this day, she was waiting for nineteen-year-old Chu Qingyu... Intention: