He Lianyu set foot on the vast yellow sand again. It seemed that he would never reach Chang'an. In my dreams, he usually has snow-white skin, blue eyes, and soft curly blond hair, which sweeps messily from the corners of his melancholy eyes in the wind. However, his arrival this time was far beyond my expectation. This thin and withered young man has lost his plump and smooth skin. He does not ride a camel or horse, does not accompany a large group of slaves, does not ride in a jingling gold and silver carriage, and does not even need to wrap his body with heavily embroidered silk and satin, nor does he have a veil to cover his body. His snow-white skin is no longer as plump as a blow, there are lines on the back of his hands, and there is a little dust between the nails; his blue eyes are no longer just suffering from ignorant depression, they are not even blue, they are the chaos of a trance. He was alone, with yellow sand in front of him, yellow sand behind him, and the cold sun above his head. If the sun did not set, He Lian Yu would never reach Chang'an. I dream about him everywhere, I dream about him all day long. But I can't draw him. It's true. Do you think he is the angel or the waif? Or, how do I draw an angelic waif, or a waif-like angel? I hide him as if I am hiding a fire. When he burns out my body and soul, this love will not be made public. If I were alive, I would hide him in the scorching desert under the sun. He would never be able to get out of my sight as he walked. I was unconsciously aware of everything about him, imprisoning him entirely in that desert and never having to reach Chang'an.
Concept: The most ordinary ordinary people and the trial of love