Gu Jun Wen Ruyan

The time in the old street is ticking in my memory. The little girl wearing a blue and white floral skirt sang the nursery rhyme childishly: "Blue stone, blue stone is blue, blue stone is nailed with silver nails." I was running through the alleys of Wuzhen with my slippers on, and accidentally bumped into a cold drawing board. It was a sunny and handsome sketching boy in Wuzhen in early summer. It was accompanied by the fragrance of spider plants and a faint smell of carbon pen. A girl wearing a clean white shirt with some pleated lace at the collar was swinging back and forth by pulling on the suspension ring on the No. 166 Bus. Maybe I was too sleepy, and I felt so sleepy even when I was standing. The eyes are slightly closed, and the long eyelashes are trembling slightly like butterfly wings; the evil man is leaning on the back of the chair, and Louis Vuitton's gray shirt is rolled up to his elbows. Suddenly there was a sudden brake, and the sleeping girl threw herself into the man's arms. The hot air and the noisy complaints from the passengers seemed to have disappeared. There was only a smile on the lips of the man in front of him, and the scent of mint that blew through his hair, stirring up a few strands of hair. The new English teacher in a black suit walked onto the podium, with dark hair hanging casually on his forehead. Looking at the late girl at the door, she was trying to look deeply regretful. The teacher came over. Was he too close? She could even smell the soap smell on him clearly. This is a love story about "young grass" knocking down "old cow" many times but never regretting it. Three encounters, three smells, it was love at first sight with scent.