In the cardamom years, love begins. Almost everyone has their own cardamom complex, deep or shallow. Shallow, like passing clouds and smoke, dissipating with the wind. Deep, the complex turns into love, and somehow or when, she or he gradually integrates into your bone marrow, flowing with every strand of your blood circulation, and beating with every beat of your heart. Pleasure and pain are all close to the skin.
Wen Junyao was Su Sixun's cardamom calamity. Unknowingly, he was like a cinnabar mole growing in his heart, bright red and enchanting, which no one would touch or ask. A person secretly rejoices, misses, and misses. Every struggle, every cry, every pain is burned into the blood...
When one day, I suddenly looked back, I had to sigh silently. It turns out that every scene in my fragile youth was related to you. That memory is like a piece of grassland, turning into desert year by year. And those scenes are like tiny pearls, lost in the dust. Occasionally, I opened it attentively, and there was only a slight brilliance, but it was not dazzling. The rest was all desolate...
Intention: