The world's turmoil comes from my generation, and as soon as I enter the world, time rushes by.
In the chat and laughter of Huangtu Hegemon, life is a drunken experience.
Carrying a sword and riding astride, wielding the ghost rain, the bones are as white as mountain birds flying in fright;
Things in the world are like tides and people are like water. Only a few people in the rivers and lakes return.
Youth Travel, Su Muzhe, Breaking Time, Cave Immortal Song, Water Dragon Yin, five poems, but they compose a song of love between children in the world.
He is dressed in white clothes that are spotless, with a wisp of red silk that can dance. He is a frightening person in the world; he is a descendant of the emperor who is elegant and generous, but his agency and calculations are useless; he is heroic and broad in martial arts, and his palms are sharp but as tender as water; she is gentle, graceful, smart and playful, and has lived in a waterside pavilion for a long time, but her smile makes the whole country fall; she is as cold as ice and untainted by mud, half-leaning in a brothel and only rejoices for her lover.
He accompanied her thousands of miles to seek medical treatment, and she accompanied him to seek revenge;
He was competing in the rivers and lakes just like before, leaning against the willows and laughing again and again. A woman was sitting quietly in the boat, smiling just for him.
Suddenly, I knew where I was going.
"Everyone should repay evil with kindness in his life." The old monk clasped his palms together.
"It would be very difficult for me if I don't repay a hundred grievances with one grievance." The young man sneered.
. . . . .
"The donor is too murderous."
"I am not a good person to begin with."
"Then ask the donor, what happened the past few days..."
"Snakes still need to hibernate."
"May the donor put down his butcher knife and become a Buddha immediately."
"I don't use a sword to kill people, and I don't want to become a Buddha."
"Where did this come from."
"Raising children on behalf of others."
"Who is so unlucky?"
"My lady."
The old monk sighed and looked at the young man carefully, "From my perspective, the donor is more like this child's mother."
. . . . . . Old bald donkey.