Where does a little duckweed go? Come lightly, leisurely waves, fluttering dreams, deep and hesitant. Look at its silk roots on the clear stream, swimming coldly and silently. The blue bird in the Luan Mirror is beside the red wine, dying, and gradually forgotten. Su Su's slender fingers don't know what to think. Don't ask where will the fallen flowers go? It hurts if it falls, and it feels cold if it stays.