A black jade bracelet, two pieces of love in the past.
On Guzhu Mountain, on the bluestone platform, a woman in white holds a Meng Zong bamboo umbrella.
The uppers are embroidered with goose-yellow edges, and they come through the gurgling water.
The skirt of her white dress was fluttering, and her black hair flowed down like a waterfall to her ankles. Her face was as white as jade, her eyebrows were as thin as a crescent moon, her eyes were as cold as cold springs, her nose was high, and her pale lips were slightly pursed. She looked back and looked down at the man holding her hand who had an eyebrow similar to his. The voice is like the coolness of pearls and jade, like a Buddhist mulberry flower suddenly blooming: "Yong'an, please drink wine."