The rain in the south of the Yangtze River is soft and lingering, always as misty as smoke.
In such a misty town, Chang Xingge, a young man, carried his shabby luggage and walked step by step into the paradise of opera.
The stage is full of drunkenness and singing, the audience is like a dream, and is that person looking up at his face through the heavy curtains?
In a war-torn era, can their love really last forever? . .
[The copywriting is useless, and the copywriting has little to do with the main text. . . Kneel down = =]
Intention: