The night was slightly drunk with the new moon hanging high.
In the temple courtyard nestled in the mountains, an exceptional tranquility and artistic conception prevailed.
Under the large osmanthus tree, golden osmanthus blossoms quietly burst forth, filling the surrounding air with a rich fragrance.
Moonlight streamed through the branches, softly casting down its light, where a gentle silhouette quietly stood by the tree.
She picked up a fallen osmanthus flower from the ground and absentmindedly fiddled with it in her hand while her eyes gazed at the crescent moon in the deep night; her entire being seemed enveloped in a faint sorrow and yearning.
Kang Mo, after visiting his wife, saw that she still showed no signs of awakening; he silently sighed.
He walked out of the guest room, planning to cross the courtyard to either the main hall or step outside the temple for some air, when he happened to witness this scene.