Listening to the wind, there is a lot of poetry outside the window.

——Inscription

Since childhood, we have more or less yearned for beauty, and we have heard many beautiful legends from ancient times to the present. Still lingering on the look of Xi Shi's slightly parted lips, he followed her example and sang softly while holding the pipa, carefully imagining how she would conquer the country and conquer the city, while grinning. It's just that those envious things only exist in imagination and have never seen the true face of beauty.

The family lives on the second floor of a short, gray house. There are rows of lentils planted in front of the house. I don’t know whose handiwork this was, maybe it was unintentional. I watched their growth day after day: budding, branching... It’s time for the lentil flowers to bloom, surrounded by purple lace. The bright white petals are noisy. The fragrance is so brilliant that it can leap thousands of miles away. If the windows are open at this moment, branches and vines may press into the home.

On a very ordinary day, I rushed downstairs in a hurry. The lentil flowers are still fragrant, but I am quite surprised. A quiet old woman sat under the flowers, flipping through a book. Perhaps her eyesight was not very good. She stretched out her arms and tried her best to move the book as far away as possible. She squinted her eyes and read aloud in a low voice. The sunlight was not dazzling, but sparsely cast on the page. She smiled peacefully, as if the whole world was close at hand. The lentil flowers in front of her were delicately nestled in the tips of her silver hair, and some of their quiet fragrance swirled in her hands, seeming to melt the words on the page. There were bees and butterflies buzzing around, but they slowed down as they passed her, for fear of destroying this precious comfort.

It’s just that I looked at her there in shock. A breeze blew through her hair, and a few strands of hair slipped away. She was not annoyed, but just sat there as before.

Suddenly I thought of a poem: "A light branch is stored under the window of a book, and people and flowers have their own fragrance." Isn't this you? Aren't you still guarding your peaceful soul and enjoying life amidst the glitz and glamor of all living beings? For a moment, I thought of Xi Shi in the dream. Maybe her beauty is not hidden in the smiles while playing the pipa. Just the way she twists her slender waist while washing yarn by the stream is moving. These beauties are not loud and noisy, they are plain and beautiful.

"Is it bad to be plain?" I asked myself. Even if we continue to yearn for the grace of "Looking back and smiling, the six palaces of pink and white are colorless"; no longer rejoice in the turbulence of "the sun rises and the river flowers are as red as fire, and the spring comes and the river is as green as blue"; no matter how much you indulge in "the moon in the sea has tears, The splendor of "Lantian is warm under the sun and the jade creates smoke" is not worth the gentle words of "In the morning, I clean up the filth, and I return with the moon and the hoe".

"Plainness is beautiful." I answered myself. Like that old woman, it was only when I saw you that I suddenly realized what beauty is. Beauty is not the heavy make-up that is exposed on the outside, it is the plainness and true nature hidden in every gesture. I think of what Xi Murong once wrote in "Tung Blossom": "As long as the flowers are behind us, we can still hear the sound of flowers blooming in our hearts, little by little, and that's enough." Such quiet beauty is something that few people have nowadays. .

And true beauty is often like this, so plain that there is no word, but it is as romantic as possible. I want to express my gratitude to that old woman. After all, seeing you made me know what beauty is.