Just when everyone thought...

The story of this poem, "Preface to the Poems Composed at the Orchid Pavilion," ends here.

A brand new scene appeared on the stage, like a post-credits scene.

At dawn in spring, the sky is clear and blue.

Willow buds sprout along the riverbank, and all things revive.

Through the window in the courtyard, people saw the familiar woman in white doing her hair in front of the mirror.

The woman in the mirror looked noticeably haggard and much older.

She held her long, black hair in one hand and a wooden comb in the other, the comb's fine teeth gently gliding through her hair.

The scene shifts.

In a distant field, a solitary grave rises.

The black tombstone is inscribed with "Tomb of Zuo Lan, former scout general of the Jin Dynasty".

A gust of cold wind blew by.

The wildflowers beside the tombstone swayed as if waving to their beloved.

Under the rising sun.

On a lonely grave.

Another set of bilingual subtitles, just like the one at the beginning, slowly appeared:

"Ten years have passed, and we are separated by life and death. I try not to think of you, but I cannot forget you."

"A lonely grave a thousand miles away, with nowhere to speak of my sorrow."

Even if we met again, we would not recognize each other, for our faces are covered in dust and our temples are like frost.

"In a dream last night, I suddenly returned to my hometown; by the small window, she was dressing her hair."

We gazed at each other speechlessly, only tears streaming down our faces…

If the story of Zuo Lan, a scout from overseas Chinese, fighting for his country resonated deeply with Zheng Shuangmei, then it was a story that Zheng Shuangmei could relate to.

So, the emergence of this poem.

This was like a powerful cannonball striking the heart of Wells, a septuagenarian science fiction writer who constantly missed his deceased wife.

Wilson stared at the English translation of each line of the poem, reading it over and over again.

His expression grew increasingly sorrowful.

"Oh, God..."

"God..."

I miss her...

Wilson, who was originally immersed in the story of "Preface to the Orchid Pavilion", never expected that he would become the protagonist of the story at the end of the film.

If his deceased wife were still alive, he would probably be so old that she wouldn't recognize him...

Wang Yueheng's poem instantly broke the defenses of the elderly writer Wells in the audience.

In just a few words, he wrote down the words he had wanted to write all his life, but could never bring himself to do so, in remembrance of his deceased wife.

The 70-year-old renowned American screenwriter was overcome with emotion, weeping like a child.

This scene was heartbreaking for everyone present.

The surrounding guests also gathered around with expressions of emotion, gently comforting Wilson, who was moved to tears by the unexpected poem.

The movie star Nixon, who had just bought the sneakers as a gift for the old man, also hurriedly got up.

He approached Wells and gently patted him on the shoulder, trying to calm his old friend's excited emotions.

The next moment, Nixon looked up at the poem on the stage that seemed to be written specifically for his old friend.

His eyes conveyed a complex mix of emotions.

"Phew~"

"I have to say, he's a genius."

"If it weren't for this arrest mission, I would really like to be his friend..."

James, the agent who had been sitting in the meeting room, felt as if he was being shocked by the series of events.

Scenes from the story in this song.

It gave him a sense of déjà vu.

It's as if he's writing about himself, and also as if he's writing about soldiers from an enemy country who are like him.

Unfortunately, they were fighting for their respective countries.

I could never become a true friend with this artist from Longguo in my lifetime.

But what if the higher-ups insist on making this artist disappear from the world?

I will definitely give the other party a quick death and not torment this singer, as a sign of respect for his talent.