In the Yili River of northern Xinjiang, far away from the court, a silver-haired young man from Chang'an suddenly appeared. What Hua Duoling thought was a chance encounter was tied up by a string puppet.
The young man raised the hand holding the umbrella slightly, and moved the umbrella over her head, "My surname is Zong, and my name is palace." His voice was like the wind blowing through the snow, and the cold plums under his umbrella seemed to tremble with the wind, and a wisp of fragrance quietly dispersed.
Holding her hand, her blurry reflection was reflected in his eyes, and his voice was almost inaudible: "How did you know I didn't want to." His eyes were deep, as if he wanted to carve her image into his bones.
Intention: It's good to be alive