Luo Wei's autumn cry is in Jinjinglan, and the frost is desolate and the mat is cold.
The lonely lamp is full of thoughts and sorrows. I roll up the curtains and look at the moonlit sky and sigh.
Beauty is like a flower in the clouds.
There is the high sky of Qingming above, and the waves of Lu River below.
The journey is long and the soul is suffering. The dream soul cannot reach the mountains.
Sauvignon Blanc is heart-breaking.
Conception: