In the sixth year of Yonghui, the winter in Chang'an seemed to be particularly cold.
The winter plum blossoms in Daming Palace have just begun to bloom, with a subtle fragrance.
I am Li Shu, a royal woman lingering on the sick bed outside the palace.
The leakage is deeper, the lingering fragrance wraps around the hands, the memories are so cold, tender and cruel.
That's it, Mei Niang, you and I can only be alone until death.
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At first I wrote this article just for the following poem -
I am also a pedestrian again, and I will never forget that I have ever passed through this door. I missed my love last year, but that spring, except for the flowers blooming, it was not true.
. . . It's just that I have a mortal relationship with you in this ordinary life, which is neither sad nor happy in the human world.