Weeds have independence, they yearn for freedom. Ivy is elegant, but she can't live without trees. She likes the greatness of trees. She is a little jasper. Peony is tender and affectionate, but it cannot be separated from the flower bed. She fell in love with the gardener's care and was a good girl in a noble family. Weeds are not like this at all. Roadsides, corners, houses, rivers, and even vast grasslands and barren hills in Gobi have their figures. It's weeds. Is there nothing to love? No, it loves something, it loves independence, it loves freedom, and it loves its unique wildness. For thousands of years, it has maintained a simple nature, unwilling to compete for beauty, laugh at beautiful women, and unwilling to be artificial and reward gentlemen. A plant, a few clusters, endless, no matter where you are, weeds show themselves incisively and vividly, and show their pungent wildness incisively and vividly. "Sweet they pressed on the ancient avenue and reached the crumbling gate". Isn't this the wildness of the weeds that Bai Letian admired for their love of independence and freedom?
This is the weed, the weed of nature, the weed in my heart.