A little bright red, a few touches of dark green, and crimson peach petals pop out on the paper.
Pieces of goose yellow outline the black lines, and the singing willows and orioles lead the branches and sing loudly.
The painter strokes his pen and draws the soul into his bones.
According to rumors, she is an almost mythical existence.
It's a pity that fate turns,
What cannot be escaped is the entanglement of fate,
What is difficult to fight is the disorder of the mind.