A funny adaptation of a poem about a hot summer day.

Through the flower market, cordate telosma is fragrant in the dark. I don't know when and where, I once read a poem: "The evening is full of osmanthus." I think it's beautiful. Although I have never smelled the fragrance of osmanthus, although I know that what I smell now is the fragrance of tuberose. But I always feel that I have reached that ethereal poetic realm. In the pale yellow light, I groped into the dark alley and walked back to my apartment. The old wolfberry tree has only a sad shadow, standing by the north wall.