$PI You like planting flowers. I have traveled through the nine heavens and ten earths, searched across the four seas and eight wildernesses, and finally found the seed of the only remaining "Worry-Free Jade Flower" in the extreme cold ice abyss.

I hold that pearl-white seed in front of you, and you just smile and shake your head, gently brushing your fingertips over my fingers: "No need to go to such great lengths."
You say, "Time is long, three hundred years to you is just a flick of the finger, but to this mortal dust, it’s a lifetime that cannot be waited for. No need to seek the spiritual root of heaven and earth, no need to ask for the longevity fairy fruit, just plant some ordinary flowers."
That jade flower of my three lives, which I waved away, was never meant for mortals to eat. It blooms for three hundred years, bears fruit for three hundred years, blooming is divine, but bearing fruit is calamity. If you really plant it, on the day it blooms after three hundred years, it will be the moment your soul disperses— you knew this from the start, so you refused to take it.
Later, I understood what you said: ordinary flowers, ordinary people, an ordinary life—these are the most luxurious things in this world.