"A fleeting moment, and a beautiful city vanishes in an instant."
"A smile as you turned back on the cobblestone street, so graceful..."
In the vast open-air theater, only Wang Yueheng's singing and musical melodies could be heard at this moment.
As the song played, the visuals on the stage changed once again.
Years later, at the town market, the woman in the white dress of yesteryear was dressed in coarse cloth, living a secluded life by herself.
She and her husband, who was serving in the army at the front, could only communicate through a very limited number of letters exchanged between the military and express their longing for each other.
Through the letter, the woman also learned that her husband was about to complete his mission and return from the front lines.
The mundane and lonely life seemed to have gained a glimmer of hope, and a smile reappeared on the woman's face.
This day.
The woman carried the newly bought fabric home, preparing to make a new dress for her husband who was about to return from the war.
As she walked through the crowd, she suddenly heard someone call her name from behind.
The woman was startled, and turned around abruptly with a look of surprise and delight.
Before them stood a soldier clad in armor, his face obscured by the armor.
At that moment, an incomparably radiant smile appeared on the woman's face.
After years of waiting, it seems that a response has finally arrived.
The woman abandoned the fabric she had just bought and rushed towards him, wanting to give her husband, who had just returned from battle, a hug.
However, when the soldier in front of him took off his helmet, a strange face appeared before him.
As a package was handed to the woman, the smile gradually froze on her face.
That was the pack her husband carried when he went to war, containing clothes that she had sewn herself, stitch by stitch.
The woman looked up at the soldier in front of her who was fighting alongside her husband.
All I saw in their eyes was helplessness and sympathy.
Two lines of clear tears silently rolled down her cheeks.
The next moment.
The woman, clutching her husband's belongings, sat on the bustling cobblestone street and wept bitterly.
The heartbroken sobs brought tears to the eyes of all who heard them.
"As the wild geese fly south, a fleeting glance back brings tears to your eyes."
"How can I sleep with a handful of moonlight in my hands and memories in my embrace?"
"How could that be?"
"Her secrets were sewn into the embroidered shoes, each stitch a lament."
"If the flower resents the butterfly, who will you resent..."
A cool autumn night.
A lonely moon swayed in the well.
The woman sat alone in the room through the window.
She changed into a gray, hempen dress that symbolized endless sorrow, and continued sewing the cloth shoes she had originally intended to make for her husband.
The woman lowered her head and bit off the end of the thread with her pearly teeth. When she looked up again, she saw a newly placed memorial tablet on the table in the corner.
His vacant eyes were filled with endless sorrow.
What was once a world for two has now become a solitary journey for each other.
The blooming flowers complained that the butterflies wouldn't come to be affectionate with them.
But who can I blame?
He harbored hatred, but it was hatred directed at his national enemy.
What she regrets is that she and her husband were born at the wrong time, not in a peaceful and happy dynasty.
After a while.
The woman put down her needlework and suddenly looked up at the bright moon outside the window, a symbol of reunion.
At this moment, the full moon hangs quietly in the sky.
The woman, who looked as if she had just recovered from a serious illness, got up and, holding onto the table and chair, went to the bookshelf.
Take out the white paper that was covered with a layer of dust again.
In the dim, flickering candlelight.
The snow-white paper was once again spread out on the table.
Take the brush and dip it in ink.
Seeing this blank sheet of paper, the woman seemed to recall the scene of her separation from her husband.
On her sorrowful face, a poignant smile appeared, as if she were lost in beautiful memories.
"Unrelated to romance, I'll inscribe this preface and await your reply."
"The suspended brushstrokes are a masterpiece, with waves layered a thousand times on the shore..."
The poignant song remained unchanged.
The woman stood beside the table, bending over to write calligraphy.
However, unlike the last time when I was copying calligraphy in the pavilion and didn't know where to begin, this time...
This time, lines of exquisite handwriting reappeared on the paper.
The character “情” (qing, emotion) seems to have finally been understood in its writing.
"Feelings change with circumstances, and so do emotions. What once brought joy has, in the blink of an eye, become a thing of the past..."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com