There are three thousand blue hairs, hostas fall to the ground, and all the flowers are gone. The rain wet the bluestone slabs, and the layers of skirts passed by, making them slightly wet. The pear blossoms are like snow, flying one after another, singing in a low voice of mourning. Things have changed, people have changed, everything has ceased. If I want to speak, I will shed tears first. Who played the wrong string for whom, and who read the wrong fate for whom. In the past life, this life, the future and the past, who is the person I love?
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
