Thousands of thoughts and sorrows, a cup of tea is exchanged for all the empty space left
Mo Hen is new, Rong Hua is old, singing endlessly about madness and hatred.
He is dressed like a flower in snow, elegant and indifferent, and plays the piano by the spring like snow and wind.
She is enchanting in red, and her infatuation is in vain. The white lotus on her temples will last forever.
Next year, under the peach blossom tree, Qingya did not keep the appointment, leaving only the jade bone fan with a clear light. On the jade bone fan were two lines of hairpin flowers in small regular script: Qing Anhui, change your life, change your beauty, meet in the next life and recognize the flowers on your temples.
Su Qingwan closed her eyes weakly, Qingya, are you still unwilling to see me after all?