In the early snow of the fourth year of Yonghui, eleven-year-old Shangguan Wan'er knelt on the execution ground, with seventeen heads of Shangguan's family in front of her. The curtain of the phoenix chariot opened, and Wu Zhao stretched out a hand: "Wait a minute." From that moment on, the fate of the two women was entangled. She taught her to write, and the first stroke should be heavy, telling the world that you are here; she ate poisonous osmanthus cake for her, and fell in love with her on a rainy night in Yangzhou; she rode thousands of miles from the battlefield to pick her up, and kept her gray hair for ten years under the sycamore tree in the south of the Yangtze River. There are flashes of swords and shadows in the court, and smoke and fire at the border. They stay together in the cracks of power. Wu Zhao said: "My country will be given to those who are worthy of it." Wan'er said: "I don't want my country, I want you." From the execution ground to Feng Qiwu, from monarch to lover, they have been together for twenty-two years. In the secondary line, the female general Di Ying and the female poet Li Yibai lit up their way home with 366 lanterns, and the border poem manuscript turned into a white-headed promise. The most thrilling thing is never the overthrow of the country, but the ordinary days when she makes tea for her, counts her gray hairs, and the sycamore leaves rustle and say: Stay together forever.
Empty! Empty! Don't take it too seriously.
Intention: Love is not thrilling, it is staying together every inch of ordinary life.