In late spring in April, the orioles were flying, the grass was growing, and the spring rain was falling sparsely. Song Jie held an oil-paper umbrella with 24 joints. The large snow butterflies painted on the pure white umbrella were lifelike. His tall figure stood in the rain, and his fingers with clear joints touched the stone tablet in front of him. He said lightly, "Rong'er, how long will it take before I can see you again?"
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