When I was reborn as Maid Xichun and entered the painting, she was already writing to Tanchun about getting a haircut and going home.
Looking at the lonely and cold paintings written by the girl, which looked like dead branches, I rolled out half a roll of silk: "The girl painted the form, and the slave painted the heart."
That night, half of a colorful butterfly was wiped out from behind the scrapped manuscript. Her fingertips brushed the gold powder on its wings: "This color... Seems to be alive."
On the day when the house was searched, the wind and snow filled Nuanxiangwu. She trembled and wanted to twist her hair immediately: "After all, the world is so dirty that we have to get rid of it!"
I shook out three years of drawings: the garden is full of spring scenery, from Xiangyun lying drunkenly to Daiyu burying flowers, and the last page is the shadow of two people mixing colors side by side.
"The girl's wonderful skills should be passed down to the world and should not be let down."
Miaoyu opened a double studio behind the Cuicui Temple - we rolled out the long scroll "Spring Full of the World", and the peach petals outside the window were falling on the wet cinnabar.
