The drizzle of rain is like strands of silk threads, intertwined, interspersed and dancing, gradually covering the distant and near scenery in the gauze woven by the rain, hazy.
"Alas..." An inaudible sigh floated in the rain. Han Xin grabbed the wine bottle in his hand, raised his head, and took a big gulp of wine. The remaining wine slipped from the corner of his mouth, flowed through his Adam's apple and sank into his clothes. In my drunken state, I only heard a clear voice coming from the door of the restaurant.
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