It was Chang'an in March when the grass was growing and the orioles were flying.
Han Zijin led the slowly pacing maroon horse, and on his back was Wen Yuhan, who couldn't even ride a horse well.
This is the rare tranquility and tranquility in Han Zijin's memory.
I just thought that there would be no end to the lakeside, the willows would be leaning on me, and the fragrance would be tender, and my black hair would be replaced by white hair before I knew it.
Even later, when Han Zijin thought of that girl in the military tent, there was always a faint smile in the corner of his eyes. Occasionally she took a sip of the hot wine, and slowly missed the memories of Wen Yuhan. What was originally a small thought finally crazily merged into the blood of her body under the pouring of strong wine.
Conception: