The composition of our Daqin Opera is 400 words.

Our faces are covered with the vicissitudes of time. She only wore thin clothes and trembled slightly in the cold wind. Another gust of wind blew and she held the baby in her arms. Probably her son, wrapped in two quilts, nestled in his mother's arms. Maybe her mother snuggled up to him. She snuggled up to the child and hugged her tightly, wishing to share her body temperature with the child.

Just then, another north wind roared past us with fallen leaves, as simple as grass and Buddha, and the wood fell off, which was extremely biting and fierce. She shuddered. However, I saw her wrap the child in the quilt again, and then took off her coat without hesitation and gently covered the child. Her body is like a leaf in late autumn, shaking badly, but her eyes can drive away the cold and warmth.