Tokyo's cherry blossoms are all over Paris, but where are the memories now?
Life is short. Like a dream, empty and empty. Like tea, bitter and astringent. Like sugar, extremely sweet and extremely bitter.
I don't know when, tea has become a symbol of life. Yes, bitter and sweet, like a dream but not a dream.
Life is so painful, death is so sad.
The night is still young and my heart is broken.
Rain, gently blowing, vermilion windows.
My whole life is on paper, being blown away by the wind.
Dreams, in the distance, turn into a wisp of incense.
The flowers have fallen brilliantly towards the evening.
In this withering world, fate is miserable.
Sad, don't cross the river, autumn heart will be split in two...
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.