The sky was dark, as if snow was about to fall, and several houses on the opposite street lit up with dim lights. Under the cold curtain, they looked like a few will-o'-wisps on lonely graves and wild hills. The silky wind came in through the cracks in the window, and the golden tassels on the window curtains swayed slightly. The cigarette in her hand went out, leaving only ashes. Suddenly I felt a chill on my back, and the heating in the room seemed to have stopped, and I didn't bother to care. She sniffed, and the ashes from the cigarette butt fell. The fine gray-white powder fell on the window sill. Before it could settle down, it was blown away by the wind in the crack of the window. She thought of her precarious first half of life, how could it not be like this smoke?