It is the warmth that is woven into the days after being crushed by the sunlight. It does not carry the glittering opulence of glazed surfaces; it merely retains the genuine texture of the clay - like the color of freshly dried wheat stacks mixed with a touch of the soft yellow of autumn osmanthus. Each brick's texture is filled with the sense of fine sand grains, being unadorned and warm, with a rustic charm. 

The cracks between the bricks are the lines of decoration of time, sewing each brick into a stretched letter. Even the shadows cast by the hollowed-out lattice patterns beside them have become its annotations - the light and shadow weave a net on the bricks, transforming the static wall into a flowing painting. When the bright light slants back up, the brick surface rises with a soft, matte, warm tone, and even the dark shadows of the cracks become gentle folds, wrapping around the faint fragrance at the base of the wall, mingling with the warm scent of the clay that has been warmed by the sun, like old cotton and linen soaked in tea stains, fitting and solid.