Fairies Never Pursue Perfection

Thirty-year-old He Mi is a serious perfectionist - heating milk must be precise, placing shoes in the shoe cabinet at an angle of 30 degrees, and causing insomnia if the line spacing of PPT is 1.5 Points off. She thought this was the standard answer to living, until her thirtieth birthday, her grandma sent a cracked heirloom hosta, and a girl who claimed to be the "Ninth Grade Immortal of Heaven" jumped out of it. This girl's hair was fried into dandelions, she wore dinosaur pajamas, her fingernails were painted out of bounds, she baked rice cakes with He Mi's eyebrow clip, and she used facial masks as honey. She said with a smile: "Fairies never pursue perfection." He Mi's life was completely turned upside down. But she gradually discovered that this hairpin had been passed down in the hands of four generations of women in the family for hundreds of years - my great-grandmother had seen Xianyue, my grandma had seen it, and my grandma had also seen it. Each generation uses crooked houses, crooked carrots, and crooked cloth heads to tell the next generation: You can be imperfect. But those unspeakable pains were all stuffed into the "recycle bin" in my heart for decades. Until Xianyue used a burned-through pot bottom, a crooked house made of cardboard, and a handful of withered water spinach to help He Miu dig them out one by one. "There has to be a generation that empties the recycle bin." Xianyue said, "Looks like it's your turn." A healing story about acceptance of imperfections, reconciliation between mother and daughter, and reconciliation with oneself. People can live in crooked houses, but jade with cracks is alive.