These are old stories I wrote for Hongxiu a long time ago. They turned out a little muddled, so I've dug them up and gathered them together.
(Note: My pen name back then was Bishui Yiji)
Moonlit night, a dark, lustrous yellow. With your dark hair pinned up, have you ever seen her footsteps shatter the night wind? A shadowy figure, silent and still. When one person yearns for another, that loneliness reveals many secrets known to no one else. And I have wandered ever since you left, hoping to meet someone.
Author's note
Premise:
Both blooming and withering are so lonely, and the blood vessels are cold. The hurricane that hit my ears tore apart a puddle of spring water in the Maha Pond, tore apart three thousand brocade silks in the Zhaohua Palace, refusing to compromise, and refusing to be confused and regretful. I know my fate very well, but at this moment, I will no longer be able to open my blood-knotted arms and embrace the fate that is bumpy in the wind and my rootless love. A lifetime of haggard is only half a collection of beautiful words. In every fantasy, I am the red gardenia in your arms with a low eyebrow and a smile. A moment of entanglement brings endless surprises. And you finally fulfilled my lifelong pursuit without regrets with your cold death. ?? The river flows into the vast sky, and the smoke and water are filled with lingering sorrow. Eyes that are familiar with this story, please don't look at me with a sad look. I can no longer dance. Even if I have wings as light as a butterfly, they have been broken by the night rain. Only in the quiet place of floating life, play a silent piano. When you are tired, look at the curling smoke, who is thinking and who is chanting, this is just a interlaced joyful scene. It's a pity that in the misty tearful eyes, someone's back is clear and detailed...
In the night banquet where people drank wine and drank wine, the King of Jin, who was dressed in purple, had only dodge and panic in his eyes. You still refused to understand my dancing posture on the blade. I can never say what this pain is for, the sound is silky and bamboo, thrilling.
When I started writing The Flower of Time Travel, I accidentally saw such a beautiful article in Jinjiang. Ying Yu's writing is so beautiful.
Only in the quiet place of floating life, play a silent piano. When you are tired, look at the curling smoke. Who is thinking and who is chanting? This is just a interlaced joyful scene.
You still don't want to understand my dancing posture on the blade. I can never say what this pain is for, the sound of silk and bamboo is thrilling