Dajing 312 years, spring.
The rain in the south of the Yangtze River has been falling for a whole month.
The raindrops are like threads, carrying the willow smoke all over the city, and also carrying an old dream that no one dares to mention.
Some people say that the woman who played the piano under the bamboo that year has long since been buried in the battlefield;
Some people say that General Xie, who had all the power in the government and the public, sat in front of a diabolo in a courtyard every night until dawn.
Everyone in the world knows that he is cold-blooded and ruthless, walking through mountains of corpses and seas of blood, and ascending to the abyss.
No one knows that there is a fushu hidden in his heart.
When the wind blows, it hurts so much that I can't breathe.
Thousands of miles away, in the small town of Qingxi, rain is hitting the banana trees.
There is a study called "Shiwan", the door is lightly closed, and the fragrance of tea is faint.
The woman behind the curtain tunes the strings with bare hands, and the sound of the piano is clear and shallow, as if she has forgotten her past, and seems to be hiding the rest of her life.
Her name is Wen Fushu.
I have fallen in love with one person, my heart has been broken by one person, and my sincerity has been ground into fine snow in three separations.
Someone asked her if she had ever hated General Xie.
She just lowered her eyes, looked at the tea smoke floating in the cup, and said softly:
"I hated it. But later I realized that some encounters were out of control."
It's still raining.
There are people guarding the country in the court,
There are people guarding the time in Jiangnan.
And destiny has already paved a long road, just waiting for a reunion——
Let what you missed meet again;
Let those who have been in pain be gentle again.
The most cruel thing in this world is never seeing each other again.
But...
I still remember you, but I don't dare to get close to you anymore.
I still love you, but I can only look at you from a distance.
