Six years later, on a summer evening, I went to the terrace above for the third time to water Holly, then bent down and broke a yellow leaf for Holly. Just as I was doing this, suddenly a group of goose yellow "fluffy balls" emerged from the corner of the root of Holly and flashed into my sight. I was almost stunned by the egg-sized fluffy ball: it was not a fluffy ball, but a bud-a bud of an epiphyllum, which was true.

I gently moved the flowerpot out of the corner and moved into the room carefully in a panic.

Epiphyllum enters the room at about 6 pm. It's on the coffee table in the middle of the room. I look back every few minutes. Every time I look at it, I feel that the bud seems to swell up a little. The original tight-fitting outer bud skirt became soft and moist, like a maiden who appeared on the stage for the first time, slowly shaking off the skirt.

It's getting dark. The goose yellow bud gradually became bright, crystal clear pure white. White is becoming more and more pure, standing in front of us like a thick cloud after rain. At seven o'clock in the evening, it suddenly shook, so strong that the whole pot of flowers was shaking. At that moment, the closed bud silently cracked a circular gap, spewing out a rich fragrance. Its stamens are golden yellow, covered with tiny particles, and each pollen is conveying a warm whisper.