No matter whether the cinnabar mole turns into mosquito blood, or the white rice grains turn into moonlight white, you are my old love, you are my new love, you are mine... Three lives of love, one life of ignorance, two lives of deep bones, three lives of white heads... Bamboo horses and bamboo horses, standing next to green plums, which boy is not good at cherishing spring, and which young man is not good at falling in love. This is my first time writing an article. I really need your attention. If you have time, please give me some compliments. If you have the energy, please give me encouragement. Thank you! Thank you!