Flowers Bloom in Dry Wells

Kujing Village is on the edge of Liuhuang. It is poor, small and foggy. There is a well at the entrance of the village, which has been working for many years. Shen Xiaoman grew up here. She doesn't know how to practice. When the seed selector came, the seed-finding stone had no reaction at all in her hand. "Seedless." Two words crucified her. No one knew her palms would be hot. No one knew there was breathing underneath the dry well. Granny Liu knows a little bit. But Granny Liu is dying. The night when the wild beast came, Granny Liu, who couldn't get out of bed, stood up. There is a green light on her hand. She blocked the wild beast. Then she collapsed. She said the last words to Xiaoman beside the bed: "It's not that you don't have any seeds. You have too many." Granny Liu is dead. There is a painting in the box - a woman holding a baby, standing by the dry well. The well began to crack. It's time to go. It was dark and foggy. Xiaoman walked eastward with his baggage on his back. Looking back I couldn't see anything.