After a long and arduous journey through swamps, across gorges, and past lakes, you might just stumble upon it. Some call it Eden.

It's a vast museum where things are continually growing and changing. Everything transitions, following its own rhythm. It's not what I can see that stops me in my tracks; it's what remains unseen. Can you grasp that?

Venturing alone into the wilderness of lush greenery, with the shadows of trees, serene lakes, and fragrant meadows, it feels like a dream - both distant and vivid. The sky is a pure shade of blue, and clouds billow like cotton candy. The wind swirls gently, in harmony with the flowing waters. Beneath the trees, children enjoy sweet, crisp watermelons, their taste epitomizing summer, while their stomachs revel in cool refreshment. Cicadas create a raucous symphony, orchestrating a boisterous silence, with only the children aware of the first cicada's arrival. Leaves rustle, swaying in the breeze, and sunlight filters through the gaps in the canopy. It's the impassioned season in this museum. Visitors arrive with enthusiasm, and I respond in kind.

The museum is vast, so much so that it contains the entire world, yet it never feels crowded. Simultaneously, it's small, preserving every beautiful detail. Whether it's large or small depends entirely on your perspective. Here, the world is as fleeting as dew, immersed in a damp breeze, blending seamlessly with everything.

Before long, the earth sheds its green attire, adopting a more subdued appearance. Unlike the blazing sun, this part of the museum is gentle. The wind becomes softer, caressing the evening's rosy clouds. Laughter abounds, the laughter of children. They step on leaves, creating a satisfying crunch with each footfall, their enthusiasm undiminished.

When the rain falls, osmanthus blossoms cover the ground, their fragrance filling the entire museum. Lonely souls and silent words finally find someone to confide in. The cool breeze, in its soft murmur, confides secrets to the osmanthus tree. Gazing through rain-splattered windows, many travelers help me wipe them clean, but my vision remains unclear. Listening to the rain, the traveler's emotions gradually calm, tinged with a touch of nostalgia. This beloved rain, once warm, now becomes colder.

Everything is veiled in a delicate mist, even the rising sun hides its radiant face, leaving behind only a rosy halo, a fleeting haze of confusion. Moving through the mist, yearning for the world's purest state. Leaves return to their roots, children return home, leaving only smiling faces, one by one. The number of pilgrims who come in search of the museum remains a mystery, just as the number that has long been blinded by the snow. What they don't know is that the museum is right in front of them, hidden only by the mist.

This is a mysterious museum, or let's call it a utopia. Only a few can see its existence, while others, dedicating a lifetime to exploration, do so in vain.

I don't know if our paths will cross again next year.

A warm breeze passes through the forest, runs over green grass and tranquil ponds, through lush trees and calm lakes, much like a playful child racing to the end of a poem, standing atop a mountain peak, and shouting. With the wind's dance, I awaken amidst a profusion of camellia blossoms.

Slowly but surely, I wake up, the blossoms unfurl, and each day takes on a fresh face. The museum exudes an atmosphere of warmth. Sunlight generously bathes the Earth, children play on the soft grass, their laughter echoing, hearts filled with brightness. At the end of the museum lies a quaint shop, where all the world's warmth is sold.

As these moments unfold, the museum remains unchanged, a departure as well as a homecoming.

After passing through some turbulent passages and enduring moments of wandering, the mist gradually dissipates, and the museum appears before my eyes, as if by magic.

I weave this tapestry, showcasing each aspect within the museum, year after year.

In hindsight, people eventually understand why only a select few can discover this occult museum, named the Four Seasons.