A faint sigh came from my ear, passing through a long, dark alley paved with green slate. The sigh reached my eardrum, as if a woman was walking alone in the rain with her heart full, counting the past in a lonely rain lane. Gu Xiang's blue bricks are covered with moss, mottled with history and written with vicissitudes.
A middle-aged man in a gown staggered out of the broken wall. He seems to smell a familiar smell, as faint as cloves. I saw him holding up an old oiled paper umbrella in a hurry, following the footsteps of scurrying, chasing the figure that would disappear in the depths of the rain lane.
The lilac girl in the dream can't disappear in the rain where the lights are dim. The regret of missing a good marriage comes to mind, lest the dream become a brush after many years. But the figure of that woman has drifted like a dream and disappeared in the dark rain lane. We must find her, even if we have to knock on every same door and cross every similar threshold until the end of the rainy lane, we must find the lilac girl full of sadness.
Knock on the closed and cold door at will, and the inside and outside of the door are the same scenery, the same age, the same darkness and the same indifference. Only his stirring heart can't be caged. Rain dripped on his head and body along the broken part of the umbrella. I don't know if it was tears or rain on his face. In the long and lonely rain lane, only hopeful eyes shine in the rain and look for it in the dreamlike rain.
People in long gowns are walking on bluestone slabs with fallen leaves. The wet gown clung to his thin body, and the muddy shoes could not see the original color. The lights in the alley swayed in the rain, which lengthened his lonely shadow and seemed to lengthen the distance of the rainy lane.
The rambling search almost exhausted all his physical strength, and his hand holding the worn oil-paper umbrella began to shake. He simply put away the broken umbrella and let the cold rain beat his lonely body. I suddenly looked up, only to find that I had reached the end of the alley. The surface left unlocked, mottled by countless rains, seems to be coldly mocking his infatuation.
Trembling hands pushed open the door left unlocked, and what you saw was bleak and desolate. In the yard, weeds and rotting wild flowers are hidden in weeds, shaking off loneliness in the cold rain and endless sadness. In the corner of the yard, a few red spots on the banana tree seem to be crying and dying.