I want to go to Jiangnan and see you holding an oil-paper umbrella in the mist and rain, smiling gently, the breeze carrying nostalgia, Shuxian who can't bear to look directly at you.
I want to go to Jiangnan and see you stepping on the bluestone in the alley while passing by, the peach blossoms scattering, gently exaggerating the hem of your skirt and dyeing your clothes red.
I want to go to the south of the Yangtze River and watch you sit by the small bridge and leave a sigh. In the desolation, the river is full of spring water and willows stop on the willow bank.
I want to go to the south of the Yangtze River and see you sitting in a long pavilion playing a piece of music. The sound of the piano is faint, the lotus flowers in the pond are blooming, and the fish are playing among the lotus leaves.
I want to go to the south of the Yangtze River to see you dancing under the peach blossom tree, with pieces of peach blossoms, setting off the charming face of the city and the country, and the beautiful clothes are fleeting.
I want to go to Jiangnan, walk through the ink-painted Jiangnan you once walked, paddle a boat, hold an umbrella and watch the misty rain, make tea and watch the gentle breeze.
The old steps of the small bridge, the lazy river, listening to a few passages in the breeze, and the storyteller telling a few volumes.