Late that night, hibiscus flowers bloomed in the boudoir courtyard, and 16-year-old Zhao Yan met him for the first time. From then on, there was endless fateful entanglement.
The restraints of ethics, the shackles of morality, and his persistence finally touched her girlish feelings.
They pretended to have a secret meeting just to stay with him for one more moment. The more they touched him, the more they couldn't extricate themselves.
Yellow plum blossoms and apricot rain, deep love and shallow love, are separated by mountains and rivers after all.
With a single thought, he plunged both her and himself into an irreversible whirlpool.
The war was in chaos, and only his last figure was left behind.
They turned against each other and became enemies. From then on, they exchanged cold words and drifted apart.
A painting fan and a hibiscus. From now on, who will add fragrance to the red sleeves of my beloved?
Should I be deeply grateful that I loved you in my prime? . . . . .