Thinking back to those days, when the candlelight in the mourning hall was about to burn out, Wanqing took off all her finery and mourning clothes and put on a moon-white cloth shirt. In front of her were her mother's coffin, the deed of betrayal, the divorce papers, and the skylight outside the window that refused to shine brightly. Bai Ling hangs on the main beam, she is tied in a knot in the void, as calm as dressing up every day. Now, an embroidery needle passes through the screen of the live broadcast room and pierces that bone-chilling dawn a hundred years ago. All the threads were tightened at this moment - one end was connected to the quiet inheritance under the modern lens, and the other was tied to the pair of plain white cloth shoes that finally broke free from the foot binding and swayed slightly under the beam of the mourning hall. The story of Zhang Wanqing begins with the light of day in the boudoir and ends with the snow in the mourning hall. Her life is the epitome of the tragedy of women in the old era, with enlightenment and hardship intertwined, trying to maintain dignity and clarity in a desperate situation, and facing thorns every step of the way. Thank you for accompanying this character through her short and heavy life. The characters in the story may have passed away, but those thoughts about bondage and escape, ignorance and awakening, destruction and inheritance, may they remain in my heart like a thread.
