Her Muse

The wild and free photographer lady Yu Qinglin, who had lived a long life, was lying quietly on the rocking chair in the backyard. The setting sun shone on his body, as if it were coated with gold. There was no descendant kneeling and crying in front of him, only Song Wu, whose hair was covered with silver threads, held his hand tightly. "Awu, the flowers in my yard have been blooming forever." "I have met many people and seen many famous mountains and rivers. The sunset in Altay is something I will never forget in my life." Song Wu, who was already in his twilight years, understood that this was his lover's last confession, and his crystal tears fell slowly. He leaned over and kissed his departed lover on the lips, as sincerely and tenderly as when he was young.