West Lake.
It was drizzling today. Ye Wenjue picked up a pot of Longjing and walked toward the West Lake holding an oil-paper umbrella. It was early spring, a little warmer this year, and several peach trees on the road couldn't wait to bloom their pink flowers. Light rain hit the flower branches, and the pretty petals fell one by one. Some fell on Ye Wenjue's umbrella, and some fell on his clothes embroidered with complicated patterns.
Ye Wenjue shook his head, looking helplessly at the few petals on his shoulders, and said nonchalantly: "Hey, this can't be done. Seeing that I'm handsome, you can't wait to hit me? I'm his." After that, Ye Wenjue reached out with a smile in his eyes and patted the petals off his body mercilessly.
The peach petals fell into the mud, looking miserable.
"The falling flowers in the drizzle are watched alone."
Ye Wenjue took a sip of tea, looked at the blue hair silk wrapped around his hand, and continued walking forward.