Holding Spring from the Dust

She was once a woman with gentle eyebrows and eyes. She should have guarded the ordinary fireworks, lived her life in a gentle breeze and drizzle, and been a gentle and virtuous ordinary woman who was held in the palm of her hand. However, fate prefers those who play tricks on the bodhisattva's heart. An accident thirty-seven years ago completely crushed all her expectations. Her husband's back was broken in the roaring workshop, and she was also firmly locked into a cage called "responsibility." During more than three thousand days and nights of cold and summer, she went from black hair to gray hair. During these long years, no one knew her hardships. There were no flowers and applause, only the trivialities and fatigue day after day, and a silent persistence that had never wavered...