Rustling again and again, the sound of rain in the south of the Yangtze River is heard. If you look closely at the red and pink flowers on the wall, you will see that they are a result of a heartache and a wound in the mirror.
In the Thousand-foot Courtyard of the Zheng Family, the man held a dark blue oil-paper umbrella and was dressed in blue and purple silk. His back was lonely and lonely, and he carefully knocked on the desolation of the courtyard. In the final analysis, I have been moved by my heart, I have been sentimental, I have been tossing and turning for him, and I have trouble sleeping and eating because of him. In the end, it is an empty joy and a joke. Who is to blame?
The drizzle is like hair, whose hair is it? Crossing the shoulder, touching the frost. Thinking back to that day when the small window was drunk with red curtains, it was so warm, it was by no means a one-night stand!
Looking back at the past in this mortal world, that person is so close at hand, but they are already far apart. Hatred is not hatred, love is not love. A lotus heart, two forget-me-not stones, love for three lifetimes, but it is ridiculous to be drunk and shed tears at dusk. This love, this love and this cherishment in this life have become strangers from now on, and they will never be the same again.