Du Xiaohua

Floating Ember·Twin Twins When the remaining snow on the eaves of the opera garden had not yet melted, Du Xiaohua was abandoned by her mother outside the theater troupe. After seven years of dependence, they were sold. When she was sixteen years old, the sound of gunshots shocked the spring of Jinling. Gu Shiye, who was famous in the nine cities, stepped into the backstage with bloody iron boots. Begonia rouge as big as a copper coin was printed on her eyebrows: "These eyes are very much like the sparrow I raised." After all, the golden cage of the Gu family's mansion cannot contain the chaos of the world. When Gu Shiye's gun pressed against the bones and blood in her belly for the third time, Xiaohua clutched the bloody costume fragments and jumped from the deck of the most luxurious yacht on the Qinhuai River. When she resurfaced, the former girl in green clothes had turned into the rosy-lipped Peony leader of Zuixian Tower. The artillery fire of the war tore apart the neon lights of the ten-mile foreign market. The moment they met again in the rubble, he burned the plum blossoms on her chest with the star epaulettes stained with blood. The fingers entangled in the smoke could not tell who was trembling: "Gu Fenglin, my life should have sunk at the bottom of the Qinhuai River long ago." "Du Xiaohua, from the night you jumped off the boat, Master Gu Shi's life was lost." While the whole city was burning, the dragon and phoenix candles in the cellar of Gu's mansion reflected the figures of people worshiping each other. When the dark red crusted palms clasped together, the actor and the prodigal finally understood the words in each other's eyes in the ashes—— "Master Shi is the last place for little flowers to stand when the sky collapses." "Xiao Hua is the only soul that Feng Lin can rest at the end of the beacon smoke." On the back of the blood-stained marriage letter, the wild cursive writing penetrated the back of the paper: "You are my southeast, northwest, and the only sweetness among the eight bitter things in life." On the remaining pages of the play pieced together from broken porcelain fragments, the small regular script with hairpin flowers is mottled: "Ten masters and ten masters are the fate of ten lifetimes that corroded the bones and corroded the heart." It's just personal conjecture and history, don't delve too deeply into it!