The drizzle is like poetry, gently covering the secluded village forgotten by time. The mist curls up like a misty veil, hiding unknown secrets. The painter Su Yao stepped into this dream-like realm with her devotion to art. The acacia tree at the head of the village, like a silent old man, has withered over the years. Whenever the moon shines like water, it will bear strange fruits, like deep eyes, staring at the absurdity of the world.
The house she lives in is like an old collection of poems, with every brick and tile carrying memories of the past. At night, the soft footsteps are like the breeze blowing across the pages of a book, and the phantom of the human face on the carved window lattice is like the image in the poem, hazy and mysterious. The yellowed diary in the attic is a love letter of time. The smudged handwriting tells the tragedy of the girl's disappearance. The strange symbols are like the code of fate.
Intention: It starts with you