When time leaves those people, how will they be understood by future generations?
The wind blew through the clusters of jasmine, walked through the green gauze curtain, and walked around behind the bright screen. When he saw Zichuai playing the piano, he handed the sword to himself, his head still but his eyes raised upward. Those eyes may have quickly reached his lips, but caught a glimpse of the word "Yi". Then they gathered into a beam of light, penetrated him again, and flew towards the stars and the wall.
The sky was light blue, covered with light crimson, because the blood of the young man blended with the light blood surging from the old immortal master's indifferent heart. Everyone was looking forward to a tear that would turn into rock and suddenly hit the emperor's head, telling her to lift the sword and not kill Fu Ning but to fight back.
Intention: Life is as gorgeous as summer flowers, and death is as quiet and beautiful as autumn leaves.