A tale unfolds where two rivers meet, beneath an ancient willow’s shade. A young scholar once carved his dreams upon its bark, hoping the winds would carry them afar. Years passed, storms weathered its branches, yet the words remained—faint but enduring. Travelers would pause, tracing the grooves with curious fingers, wondering about the hand that etched them. One autumn, a woman arrived, her eyes recognizing the script. She smiled, adding a single line beneath: “The roots remember what the l...
