"Who hasn't awoken from a grand dream; only I know myself in this life.
The grass hut in spring is filled with sleep; outside the window, the sun lingers."'
...
The ancient poems of Huaxia always possess a unique beauty, which can express Zhou Wang's current mood, one that is difficult to articulate with common language.
Wrapped in Loro Piana bedding filled with the world's rarest cashmere Merino wool, Zhou Wang feels extraordinarily comfortable, even though the room's air conditioning is set low, and it's not yet time for heating.
He lies face down, lazily sprawled in bed, half of his face submerged in the pillow. In the dim light, with merely a hint of illumination, he half-closes his eyes, not wanting to move at all.
Even though Zhou Wang knows it's long past morning, possibly even noon.
He has been awake for half the day, yet inexplicably feels this moment is rare, a blend of half-dream and half-awake in leisure...
Or rather, Zhou Wang finds it difficult to move now.
