Only Genglang is the youngest, wearing a spring robe with a soft color that suits the photo.
"Zijin?"
"Yes."
"Qingqing Zijin's Zijin?"
"Yes."
"Oh, the name is as delicate as the person."
The young man said nothing, turned around and left with a faint smile on his lips. For a moment, the hazy smoke and water seemed a bit dazzling.
Many years later, the mist and rain of Jiangnan disappeared before my eyes.
Only a touch of plain white moonlight remains between the sky and the earth, just like that person's name.
Qingqing Zijin.
