The marionette stood alone at the lush intersection. The bright lights on the eight streets and nine streets reflected a different kind of dimness. As far as the eye could see, it seemed like an illusion or a dream, towering and strange. Without soul or heart, the puppet forgets where he came from and where he is going. She finally understood that maybe all this was just a joke. She shouldn't have fallen in love with the nimble hands and the delicate thread at the same time. She kept telling herself that the thread was not broken and the hand was not released. It was she who had lost her direction. She forgot who she was and what she was waiting for. She forgot everything except that she had lost her heart and lost her soul. At that moment, her happiness died; her vision also died. She was not even happy, but she still lived hard.
Facing the crossroads, she kept telling herself that she must find her own heart, find her own soul, give her heart to her hands, hold her soul on the thread, change the lonely vow left to her by God, and let her so-called love fall into the bottomless beauty again.
The prosperity dissipated, leaving only the lonely fragrance that could not be admired by oneself. The pear blossoms swayed in the wind, and only the voices of puppets were heard wandering in the cold wind. She whispered to herself: "Leaving is to protect our love."