The night is still young, the moon is like frost, and the candles are half dim. The vaguely beautiful figure invites the beautiful lady to have a glass of wine. Self-conscious, self-wandering, solitary and self-admiring, with no place to talk about desolation.
The bell is shaking, the sachet is untied, and the clothes are removed with bare hands. Thousands of gold buys smiles, and a brocade fan is stolen to cover up the spring sunshine. In pairs, in pairs, red and pink chasing each other, sleeping together under the light gauze tent.