Drinking a cup of tea, I remember someone who hasn’t appeared for a long time—someone who once said this tea was delicious. I can’t bear to finish the cup; subconsciously, he and I have been drinking that tea together. As long as the tea remains unfinished, he won’t leave.

When I take another sip, the tea has cooled, and I清醒—realizing he has been gone for a long time.

He and I are separated only by the distance of a piece of paper. The stories written with tea, even if aged by the winds of time, remain the most beautiful moments in memory.

Those thoughts, deep and shallow, are all engraved in my heart, waiting only for the quiet of the night to bloom like orchids within—somewhat bittersweet, somewhat lonely, yet carrying a faint warmth.

It turns out some fates are but a fleeting dream, vanishing in an instant like passing traces; others take root, embedding themselves into your life, entwining and cycling through the solitude of warm and cooled tea.

I love lazy afternoons, leaning by the window, holding a cup of tea, watching the slowly moving sunlight filter through the trees onto my face. Gazing into the distance by the window, in moments of contemplation, there are always some simple, bright emotions and some warm memories滑过心田.

At this moment, I truly wish to invite that missed person to watch clouds in the mountains, admire orchids in the valley, sketch by the stream, and then, stepping on the fragmented shadows of time, sit quietly in a place with mountains, water, and flowers, sipping tea, writing, and listening to the wind.

It seems that the depth of fate in this world is predestined. As long as there is a connection in the heart, even if separated by mountains and rivers, it can brighten each other’s hearts and melt one another’s souls.