In the first year after Song Yan passed away, I prayed for Song Zi'an at the Bodhi Temple, wishing that my child would grow up happy and healthy and have a wonderful childhood. This year I sold the house deed you left behind, sent away Lao Chang and his wife, who had served us for many years, and many of their male and female relatives, and took Song Zian to Hexiang alone. The scenery here is beautiful. When it doesn't rain, the sun and sunset are bright red every day. When it rains, I lie down in the hammock under the eaves, and occasionally sit On the swing, I listened to the sound of the heavy rain hitting the eaves, crackling, as crisp as jewelry. At this time, it seemed that you were standing beside the orchid-carved wooden window behind me, with bright eyes and light lips, the corners of your lips were slightly raised. You looked at me and said to me lightly, "Yan Yan, come to me." I know that I miss you again. Song Yan Xiaobao.
Intent: A story about growth and companionship. Don't read if you have high requirements for writing, logic and words. I just want to write a story.