Beacon smoke wild goose book
The hills are overlapping, the golden light is extinguishing, the sound of Peng Yan is leaning on the railing, priming his hair. In the rhombus mirror, a little cinnabar between the eyebrows dyes the softness of Li Qingzhao's lyrics.
There was a crack at the corner of the city, Meng Xiaofeng was wearing black armor, his shirt was stained with blood, looking towards the north of Guting, the warriors and horses swallowed thousands of miles, it was the fierce killing described by Xin Qiji.
The letter from Hongyan has not yet arrived, but the smoke has spread. Tenderness and iron-bloodedness finally meet in troubled times.
Intention: The cicadas and parasol trees have been chirping for three years, and when the general returns, her lipstick finally takes on color.