The city of Gusu stretches for thousands of years, with running water as its veins and gardens and villas as its bones, weaving a beautiful and prosperous period. The records in the historical records were only about princes and generals, and the stories about talented men and beautiful ladies that were circulated among the people gradually blurred the truth and falsehood in Wu Nong's soft words. All I know is that on the summer solstice, the day is the longest and the dreams are also the longest.
There is a Yuting Garden in that city. In the garden there is a girl who can't finish embroidering the spring scenery of the south of the Yangtze River. Outside the garden there is a young man who can't wait for the rain to stop.
There is a Shantang River in the city. On the left side of the river is a brightly lit stage and famous actors who can't help themselves. On the right side of the river are cold and quiet study rooms and onlookers who want to stop talking.
There is also a Tiger Hill Tower in the city. The shadow of the tower reflects countless passing passenger ships, and there is a returnee on the ship. He listened to the evening bell, calculated the date of his return, and hoped that there would be someone on the pier who would carry a lantern for him and light his way.
When the rainy season stops and the lotus flowers bloom, the longest day in the world will finally pass. Then someone would cross the ten-mile mountain pond and pick up the lost fan for her in the wind and wind all over the city, and gently pick off the turmoil he was involved in. Then, before the next rain comes, they watch the moon in the south of the Yangtze River side by side and warm a pot of wine that belongs to them for a lifetime and is not cold.
