This is not a grand epic, but a love story between a son and a daughter that has nothing to do with his family, country, and world.
This is not a moving legend, just a story with a touch of sadness.
I once despised the absurdity of turning into a butterfly, but then I accidentally thought that how many children in the world regret being ruthless, and how many can leave the unfinished business to the afterlife?
A word of love, how much sadness. Luan is not Luan, Qingluan can hardly deliver Yunwai's letter; Nian is not Nian, who cuts the silk to read the heart of spring.
They cried, laughed, rejoiced and complained, but they could not stop the past from disappearing into smoke, leaving behind wisteria drifting in the wind and a strong fragrance that broke their hearts.