The scroll unfolds like an ink painting, the black-and-white street scene is dyed with color, green shady paths, blue sky, black radiation power plant exterior, and her mother's stern white face.
Children around five or six are playful and carefree, a little girl runs with a pinwheel in hand, the pinwheel whirls.
The air is filled with joyful vibes, the ethereal humming sound resonates in the child's heart.
The little girl is as exquisite as a little fairy, her eyes like crystal clear maelstroms, her little nose wrinkles as she pouts charmingly.
Her mere appearance attracts many glances.
Behind her is a beautiful woman in her twenties, gracefully swaying with each step like a soft breeze caressing the willows. Yet between her brows, there gathers a persistent melancholy.
The little girl often hears others praise her for perfectly inheriting her mother's looks, even surpassing her, always easily winning favor from others.
