It was early winter and the weather was freezing. The snow is falling one after another, covering the official road of the pavilion. A single figure in a Su Luo skirt, with a thin and cool but strong back, drifting away as the carriage rolled away, the tracks under the wheels were thin and long.
She said: "The emperor's mediocre knowledge is not a blessing. How can our children be sad?"
It is another deep winter, and the hairpin she wore when she entered the palace in the past year, whether it is a plain hairpin or a gold hairpin, has been replaced several times. Looking back suddenly, the past ten years seem like yesterday. That touch of unwillingness soaked in the heart, like falling snow all over the sky, making no sound and disturbing the entire spring pond.
It was the bud that did not want to live here that took root and slowly climbed over the wall of the Buddhist temple.
In a game of chess, the catalpa trees are spread out, and the black and white stones fall.
She said: "What I have learned is a path to death."
Then: "Seeing Zhu Chengbi thinking a lot, looking haggard and fragmented, I remember you. If you don't believe me, I have shed tears recently, so I opened the box to check for the pomegranate skirt."
In the winter of the next year, the snow fell like catkins in Shangyang Palace, the cold wind blew the branches, and a faint fragrance refreshed the heart and spleen.
It is a dying tree, only to know that people will eventually run out of oil and the lamp will dry up.
I have been fighting for a lifetime, robbing for a lifetime, and fighting for a lifetime.
But nothing can overcome the frost-stained hair on the temples and the broken bones.
It can't be compared with life and death. It's not up to anyone.
**
1. Refer to official history and include private goods.
Intention: Monument without words.