That day, my master personally sent the young man out of the city gate. The sun was warm, the spring breeze was refreshing, and beside her was a young man wearing black clothes and an angry horse.
The plum blossoms are all blooming
That day, the young man sat on the futon that Luomei had prayed on countless times, became a monk, and never cared about worldly affairs...
If possible, he would rather be the string under her fingers. If possible, she would rather be the sword on his waist.
Time will wash away everything, including the young man in black clothes and angry horse in his memory.
The plum blossoms bloomed particularly red that day...
Intention: