Inspired by the melancholic verse, 'Melancholy autumn approaches year's end, abundant dew has turned to frost,' this story unfolds. He is a young monk, perpetually seated in serene solitude upon his lotus pedestal, his days marked by the resonant morning bells and evening drums. She, a delicate presence, was destined to cross his path, yet remained as fleeting and insubstantial as a dewdrop held in the palm of his hand. As the prayer wheel stands empty and the eternal lamp of the temple flickers out, the sacred gates of Buddhism ultimately prove unable to hold onto the cherished connection he once knew.