The more I grow up, the more I forget, the smell of life.

I don't know at what age, the smell of flowers and grass is not as warm as reinforced concrete.

The more you grow up, the more blurred, you and my childhood.

Do not know from when, those who do not know the laughter, like soap bubbles like the circle broke.

Growth, the Pandora's box, released too much accustomed, that now we often feel lost. And in many of the accustomed, the smell of the unthinking, the most ignorant. But the smell of "desensitization", not only the passivation of the sense of smell, but also the decline of curiosity, but the collective amnesia of childhood.

Once upon a time, we could smell the life of a tree. The oasis of childhood, full of magic: clusters, like a hedgehog as lovely pine needles made us cry, but also let the smell of pine stay in the palm of the whole; Towering cypress trees, we stand on tiptoe, pointing their own height, in the very not easy to climb down the fragrance of cypress branches, imagine the appearance of growing up...... But before long, the oasis became a desert, leaving only the line of sight of the orderly trees do not speak.

Once upon a time, we could hear the seasons changing in warm and cold. The garden of childhood is full of guests: the noisy winter jasmine in spring, the pointed lotus in summer, the golden osmanthus in autumn, and the plum blossom in winter. By the guidance of time sequence, we know all kinds of flowers; By the fragrance of flowers, we witness the creation of time. But gradually, the appearance of the flowers was covered by the words of the flowers, leaving only the fate of bundling to be sold.

Fortunately, under the vague face, there are also some unambiguous smell: even if only the road guard, the faint wood fragrance, still by a vigorous strength; Even if only the expression of love language, the rich fragrance of flowers, or pass bursts of comfortable breeze.

No longer ignore the smells of the past, the sweet codes that bring us back to our childhood: the delicate balsamina in the fragrance of the flowers once dyed our nails red, we once sucked on a string of red nectar.

Hold the smell, hold the key to childhood.

Seek the scent, some scent, from the territory I wanted to conquer when I was young.

The miasmatic Lingnan, the scorching sun of Tianzhu, the mountainous Taihang Mountain, the unreachable Mount Qomolangma, from the Middle Earth to the exotic, which is not the holy land that we have dreamed of exploring?

Sandalwood, aloes, cypress, cypress, cedar... In these distinctive wood incense tone breath, the secret code of the region is hidden. In the natural transportation of aroma, it takes you to shuttle back and forth in different territories and completes the exploration of childhood.

Once upon a time, the four seasons of childhood, without looking at the calendar, by the flowers to incense, is also free and clear.

Shan cherry, white lotus, golden cinnamon, wintersweet time and open, sneaked into the wind, that endless fragrance, instead of the clock for the change of the four seasons accurate time, let the flowers tell the passage of time. Each kind of flowers, it seems that there is a story about you and me: the fragrance of the rose, childhood friends, Liangxiaowucai; In the fragrance of osmanthus, there are Jiangnan water towns, Yanliu River......

A little further in, you are squeezed into the bustle of youth, a riot of colors, a nostrils bustling smells. Barbecue fragrance, wine fragrance, rice fragrance, fruit fragrance, leather fragrance...... These very different and mutual odor, just like you and my youth, although the same short, but each has its own wonderful.

To restore, show and reshape the fragrance of nature with smell, to establish the deep connection between fragrance and life, to bring you to feel the beauty delicately, and to visit your childhood freely, is the Ququan mind of Xi Xun Lab.

I remember when I was young, you love to smell incense and I love to laugh.