Flowers in the Mist

The fog in Chongqing is the unique gentleness of this city. In Huangjueping in March, the damp bluestone road leads to an inconspicuous flower shop on the corner - "Fog Room Flower House". The owner, Shen Zhiyan, lives up to his name, with a temperament as gentle as the mist in the river, guarding the flowers and plants, and living a quiet and long life. Until that misty afternoon, Yang Qinghe, a student from Sichuan University of Science and Technology, pushed open the door and entered. She bought a bouquet of unknown flowers, but left behind a room of sunshine. At first, it was just an umbrella handed out on a rainy day and a box of brown sugar glutinous rice cakes in return; later, it was the evening breeze on the mountain trail and the sunset on the graffiti street. He used the clumsiest way to remember her preferred flower materials, and she used a sketch pen to describe his side face with his head bent while pruning. When the hustle and bustle of the market turned into a tacit understanding of looking at each other and smiling, when the salt-and-pepper Mandarin contained a tenderness that only each other could understand, this fate that began with the fragrance of flowers grew quietly amidst the layers of stairs and the bright night scene. This is not an earth-shattering redemption, but a two-way rush between two ordinary people in the fireworks of a mountain city. There are endless slopes to climb, a steaming hot pot, and a person who is willing to spend the rest of his life pruning the branches of life for you, accompanying you from a young student to a parent, from guarding the flower buds in early spring to the warm sun in late winter. The fog is rising over the mountain city, and the flowers are blooming just in time. The rest of my life is long, please give me your advice.