From the time I was conscious, I was a very, very small bird.
It's red and round. If you don't look carefully, you might think it's a little ball of wool that can roll. He has neither the beautiful feathers of a kite nor the beautiful tail of a peacock. Fortunately, he has a clear and melodious singing voice, so he stands on a small wooden stick painted with gold and sings to his master every day.
In the song, which is as dense as weaving and as clear as water, I accompany my master through the long and endless time in the upper world.
Until one day, the master touched my furry little head with his jade-like fingertips. He gently asked me in a low and elegant voice: "Xiaowu, do you want to be an adult?"