My heart is filled with tenderness; love exists between heaven and earth.

The wind is like a Buddha's hand, memories linger, the fragrance of the heart burns with the initial tenderness. A faint smile blooms like a flower, black hair dances between the clouds and water, a pair of eyes deeply locked on an ancient story. Silence, so greedily grasping the hazy night, my blood flows with the infatuation of longing, the past like a flower-like dream. A voice comes, magnetic and gentle, I see you walk out of Nalan's poems. Who are you? (I) Sky: Moon Paradise I like the sky, I like to quietly watch the sky, whether it is day or night. The sky is warm, it embraces me tightly; the sky is so, it attracts me intoxicated. I like to rest my chin on my hand, lean on the windowsill and look around. Watching kites fly with hope, watching willow catkins dance in the wind. The sky of the four seasons plays a cheerful song, with you, every bit of hope is wonderful. Rain hits the eaves, becoming a string of beaded curtains, I pass through the haze in my young heart, creating a dream with you. When the north wind sweeps across the land, countless pear blossoms bloom pale white, sky and earth meet, and in this pure white world, I am a happy Snow White. Helplessly, the flowers fall, and I shed tears; seemingly familiar swallows return, and I smile. Gently pouting, I blow soap bubbles one by one, the shimmering rings flying into the air, whether they burst or fly far away, a strange sense of joy carries me to a land of happiness. My small world hides countless secrets beneath the sky; it is a journey of the heart. You said the sky is pure, like the heart, and women should cultivate their hearts. So I know, to be a quiet and warm woman, walking in the gentle flow of time. Adorning my heart with a touch of pure blue, comforting my tender heart with vastness, embracing my body and mind with ethereal beauty—that is the refinement of the heart, that is the totem of a woman's nature. You said the first word I would utter would be "moon." So I fell in love with the moon, captivated by its waxing and waning. The moon rises above the willow branches, you hold my feet, and I long to touch its skin; dark clouds obscure the moon, you gently lull me to sleep, and I dwell with the moon in the paradise of dreams. With the moon in the sky, my heart finds brightness. You say a woman cultivates her heart, bright as water, with jade as her bones, like the pure and translucent moonlight. So I wash myself in the moonlight, emerging like a lotus, untouched by any impurity. In the vast sky, I feel the moon's loneliness. So I like to lie on the crescent moon reading poetry, and sit under the cassia tree reciting verses. A beautiful verse makes the Jade Rabbit leap with joy, a short poem moves Chang'e to tears. This watery moonlight soaks the seeds of emotion. You say a woman cultivates her heart by knowing how to be moved, that all things have a spirit and a place that touches the heart, enough to reach the softest spot. So I am not a Crimson Pearl Flower, yet I know the meaning of love, the myriad aspects of life, and shed tears of sorrow or joy. I don't know; I love to cry. Is my cultivation of the heart too devout? The vast sky allows my unrestrained reverie; I imagine a silk stocking, a rainbow-hued dress dancing for you on the moon's bosom! One dance, intoxicating; another, breathtaking! You reside in my heart, I reside in yours; both are intoxicated by the moon's beauty, flying towards the paradise of love. (II) Street: Romantic street corner, romantic street entrance. The story unfolds with youthful beauty, like a favorite tamarind, its fragrance lingering on the palate. Those blue stones, imprinted with the footprints of our feet, echo with the anxious voice of a mother's concern from the alley. Mottled yet occasionally smooth, the timeline of years turns, a testament to our growing understanding. From east to west, my soft breaths linger as an eternal melody, your hand grasping the strength I need for a lifetime. No vows are spoken, but the latent understanding lingers between two passionate hearts. The eternally eight-year age gap is a beautiful sculpting of time, each blue stone witnessing the changes of growth. You said there was a treasure map hidden under a blue stone, so I counted each stone carefully, lying on the ground listening intently, like opening a mysterious ancient box, imagining moving the stones and using the treasure map to find the Peach Blossom Spring you were going to take me to. But I didn't see your mischievous chuckle behind me, until you ran up and tightly hugged the willow tree at the street corner, playing hide-and-seek and causing it to suffer. I was secretly pleased that you couldn't see my hiding, while you pretended not to find me, lingering. When I managed to hide elsewhere, I saw your anxious panic. You said the tree was lonely like a monk, that the tree was just like you. So I carved the moon on the tree, like my heart. You broke off a willow branch and made a flute, playing off-key music for me. When the willow catkins danced wildly in the air, you held my hand and twirled under the tree, your floral skirt lifting the splendor of the season, no longer succumbing to sorrow and desolation. I always felt the street corner was warm, just like your warm eyes. Even late at night, when I return home, there's always a long shadow under the streetlights, craning its neck to watch my return. Holding you tightly in my arms, the streetlights blush shyly. Touching my hair, patting my shoulder, embracing my body, your tenderness is a small boat of love, carrying us through the harbor of the night. Weary, we sail towards the shore of happiness. You're used to standing at the street corner, holding a half-melted ice cream, waiting for me; you're used to being at the street corner, me to the left, you to the right; I go to school, you earn money; you're used to squatting down at the street corner, then picking me up, me ruffling your hair, laughing and playing as we go home. The winds of the four seasons blow, but cannot blow away the traces of love in the passing years. I see the enchanting, fragrant roses of love at the street corner, a happy imprint you planted in the corner of my heart. I wonder if you can smell the fragrance? I am overflowing with fragrance! The little street corner ripples with a silken smile, appearing and disappearing. My footsteps spun rapidly on the bluestone slabs. As the years passed, I grew thinner than a yellow flower, while your shadow played hide-and-seek with me, disappearing from sight. (Three) Small: What are the characteristics of a small vitiligo treatment device? A bride's red veil, a small padded jacket, rouge, pigtails. You said I was your little bride. I was in your arms, a happy puppet, letting you clumsily braid my hair, letting you paint mottled marks on my face. The fireflies had long since fallen asleep, and the moon shyly hid. You were a thirteen-year-old boy, and I was a five-year-old girl. Your ignorance and my naivety drew ribbons of love in the midnight sky. Only my heart was intoxicated. You said I was different from others because I had small feet. When I was a child, whenever I fell asleep, you would gently take off my little flower shoes and place them by my pillow, saying they were dumplings from your dreams. So you looked at the little flower shoes and smiled as you fell asleep, and I looked at your face and drifted off to sleep. In my dream, my little feet throbbed slightly; it was from you unknowingly biting them, a touch that belonged only to you. I was used to sitting on a small stool, while you knelt on one knee, placing my little feet in a basin of water. You gently rubbed and caressed them, a process that felt like an eternity, so as not to disturb this blissful dream. Sometimes you would stare blankly at the basin, sometimes you would giggle, your face suddenly flushing red. I would watch you mischievously, then suddenly stomp my feet, splashing water all over you, startling you from your dream, just to let my dream blossom. You would gently stroke my cheek, silent and undisturbed, a long-standing tradition, etched into the canvas of time. Your hands have washed my little feet countless times; my left foot is filled with love, my right foot is imprinted with eternity. You said you would never wrong these little feet, that one day you would carry me to the paradise of Jade Dragon Snow Mountain! Let my feet be imbued with sacred spirit, and from then on, my bound feet would dance alone for you! As a baby, you held me in your left arm, my tiny feet resting on your right palm. Looking up at me, I knew love was like a treasure in your palm. Following the lines of your palm, my entire being was filled with the allure of love. I would lazily complain of foot pain, and without a word, you would carry me on your back. Your hair exuded a masculine aura, my breath warm with love; in just a nap, happiness bloomed on your back. Later, as I shivered in the northern winter, fear gripped me, and you tucked my little feet into your bosom. The cold blankets kept my feet away, playfully whining. You never slept soundly in the cold nights, but my dreams were warm and tender. You said I was your little-footed bride, for life. Perhaps, due to the changing seasons, my little feet could not measure the depth of happiness; all that remained in this world were footprints of varying depths. Now, I wander in this world, unable to find your warm embrace; my little feet are frozen cold. Those little floral shoes, their faces weathered and forlorn, recall their lonely journey of growth, tears streaming down their faces. (IV) Rain: Rain is the tears of the heavens, tender, romantic, and dreamlike. The rain world reveals the gentle beauty of my femininity; unrestrained, burning, and wild, the rain world fills you with the masculine vigor. That year in the rain, you carried me from clinic to clinic. My fever subsided, but you fell ill. Sweat on your forehead, like raindrops; that year in the rain, you held my trembling body tightly, a light kiss landed on my cheek, and my floral umbrella quietly slipped away. Rain poured down from my hair. That year, that year, you saw me for the first time with my face covered in mud, and our destiny was sealed; that year, that year, you held me in your arms for the first time, and our love began to sprout. The film of time flashes with ever-changing scenes, and the story of rain writes a pure beauty without impurities. You said I am as clear as rain, as fresh as a lotus flower after the rain, how could the filth of this world trample me! You said I was as gentle as rain, as graceful as Daiyu burying flowers, the tears of the sky filling my eyes, impossible to wipe away! Spring nights bring joyful rain, autumn rain brings sorrowful dripping, cascading down my long eyelashes, playing a pipa melody of eternity. The smudged eyeshadow awaits your wiping. You said, women like rain have a basketful of secrets, and you said you'd gladly empty the basket, letting your secrets air out in your world! So I chattered away, like a little swallow in your ear. The beauty of Tang and Song dynasty rain, the heartfelt embrace of ancient poems, the fun of campus life, the awkwardness of girls—all poured out to you incessantly. You smiled, looking at me with loving affection.You said I was such a silly girl, the world of rain is unguarded, hoping for a paradise of love. The drizzle is as soft as butter, enriching the days with you. I always feel love is like rain, flowing freely and unrestrained, singing the joyful song of life in the free heart, and performing the vibrant years to the accompaniment of raindrops. Time whispers, be a happy woman; the world silently approves, be a romantic woman! The wooden fish cannot strike out the prayer of happiness, the golden scriptures cannot reflect the true drops of joy. With you in my world, why seek Buddha? Love exists because of you. Even if the rain is the tears of the sky, it is tears of happiness. But that day, that day, a car accident separated you from me by death. The sky darkened, my heart sank, and as I knelt in the pouring rain, I could not hear my own cries. Heaven wept for a September, a moonless September; gloom hung heavy at the street corners, romance was buried; bound feet flitted about in every familiar place, you hid in hide-and-seek, that September I could no longer find your way. So, with the heart of a white lotus before the Buddha, I sat at one end of the season. The empty city was devoid of joy, counting the fleeting moments of time, it turned out to be just a chaotic journey, a fleeting moment, a lifetime of pain, a solitary recounting of the past, silently becoming a tomb. I wanted to quietly bid farewell to the dust of time, but stories dried in the sun always give rise to new dreams. A voice, magnetic and gentle, said to me: "Peaceful years, gentle smiles, tender companionship under the moonlight, will surely be filled with a love that captivates the world in this life!" Who are you? Who are you? You are Chaoyu, my brother, someone who protected me and loved me with his life in the prime of his life. You didn't come from Nalan's poems, you came from heaven! Falling to earth, two drops of rain merged, and our story unfolded anew.　

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My heart is filled with tenderness; love exists between heaven and earth.

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