I stood next to the bluestone. The rain in Jialan Temple seemed unwilling to stop. The wet ink on the bamboo slips was washed away by the rain again.
Closing my eyes, I thought of the song called Tingyu again, and at the same time, the graceful woman appeared in my mind, and I couldn't help but play the jade Xiao in my mouth.
…
Similar to the story of Piao Miao Pavilion.