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Every small town has a few beauties who are "household names". In the late 1980s, there were three famous beauties in "my" hometown: He Li, Lina, and Hongxia. They were born beautiful, but they did not receive the favor of fate because of this; they brought the enlightenment of beauty and youthful nostalgia to the small town, and also attracted people's curious prying eyes and rumors. Over the past thirty years, amid the great changes of the times and the twists and turns of fate, the beauties seemed weak and unable to drift with the tide, but they persisted in life and tried their best to pursue their own happiness, settling into another history of the place. "Beauty" is a work by the writer Zhang Huiwen looking back at her hometown after living overseas for more than ten years. It uses the legendary life and series of stories of the beauty in a small town in northern China to reflect the great historical changes since China's social transformation at the end of the 20th century. It traces the unique growth process and life experience of a generation of Chinese women, and awakens the flexible and unbreakable female power that comes from simple vitality.

The author had the opportunity to study and live in Singapore when she was in college. It was a critical time for her to grow up, and many of the things she encountered were meaningful to her later growth. The author has a lot of writing experience, and this book is a recorded history of her growth. Her writing experience gives this book a unique style that resonates with the soul of every reader.

One is a lonely businesswoman who has settled overseas, and the other is a male writer who has traveled widely. Their stories are self-evident. If infidelity from spirit to body is the effect, then where is the cause? The afternoon when the postman delivered the package was the third day after my husband went on a business trip. She was alone at home, and that weird thought lingered in her mind. In April, the weather is already like early summer. She signed and watched the postman come down the stairs. The circular staircase is shrouded in cool shadows, but the bottom floor of the staircase is filled with afternoon sunlight. Looking down, it looks like the mouth of a well with flashing water. She closed the door and stood at the window, watching the mailman exit the apartment building and cross the path lined with blue and white hydrangeas. Further away, against the wall of the apartment management office, several small red rose bushes were blooming. The postman is a handsome, tall young man. The sun shines on him, making his chestnut hair look even better.

The author had the opportunity to study and live in Singapore when she was in college. It was a critical period for a person's growth, and many of the things she encountered were of significance to her later growth. The author has a lot of writing experience, and this book is a recorded history of her growth.

"Let it die as soon as possible and suffer the consequences." At this time, a young, angry voice said. This sentence obviously surprised the onlookers. People looked towards the person who made the sound, but the person squeezed out of the crowd and walked towards the other side of the square. He walked quickly, because he was anxious to get rid of the face and the conversation that disgusted him. He left quickly as a protest against them and to show his disgust with the philistines. But people didn't see this meaning from his back. People thought he had something urgent and was rushing somewhere suddenly. They only saw this man wearing a blue-gray striped sweater. This is a young man who writes a novel. He is striding in the square at the moment, feeling depressed and aggrieved because of what happened to the dog. He looked at the gaps in the azure cement bricks under his feet, the square lines and checkerboard-like patterns they formed. If he could see a large expanse of ground, if he squinted his eyes a little more, he would see a dazzling web of intertwined lines.

I drove forward slowly, relying on my memory. When I realized it, I found that I had already passed the path lined with bushes, which seemed like a dream. I can't help but think about how she spent these years, like a person like Hansen, in such a place, sitting, walking back and forth, sweating in a tin box that was powerless against the heat and cold, day after day, listening to songs like "Summer in My Dreams" and looking at the shadows of oak trees outside the small window and the grass that was about to be eaten. The fallen farm road... She, along with her beauty and the heat of youth, was imprisoned in this barrenness, labor and hopelessness, like a little flower on the wilderness that was mercilessly eroded and withered prematurely... She was right, if her past life was not a dream, then her current life was a dream, a dark green, cold and miscellaneous dream.