Time is already as old as the magnolias that bloomed and faded in early spring under the eaves. The branches are inseparable, sleeping in the hazy sun and stars.
There is still a cool breeze in the cold spring, a few clusters of magnolias are scattered, and there are bustling people under the flowers.
Under the tree, a man in white clothes stood with his hands behind his back. He is sixty years old and looks very old, with a smile as elegant as a young man with a weak crown on his face.
Three thousand silver hairs dance in the wind, and the past drifts away leisurely.
He slightly curved the corners of his mouth, looked forward with a distant smile, and stared ahead.
Then he lowered his head shyly, and flowers like brocade fell quietly from the tips of his hair.
His shoulders were shaking slightly, and he hesitated whether to take a step forward.
Finally, he raised his head, the corners of his mouth were as beautiful as a crescent moon, and clear and crystal liquid overflowed from his cloudy eyes.
He slowly took a step forward.
The flowers and soil were trampled underfoot.
"You're here." He said softly to the man standing not far away.