She walked by with her oil-paper umbrella tilted.
Water wears wind and clothes.
Soft footsteps meandered on the bluestone road in spring.
Her long, slightly curly hair swayed down, and her thick eyelashes fluttered like butterflies.
Beside the pale red lips, a faint smile opened the melancholy and sentimental misty rain in Suzhou City.
The fall at that time was just like the dark water of the white mountains in the south of the Yangtze River in late spring, a halo of dew hidden in the thick ink and heavy colors;
It's also like a few touches of carmine popping out of the darkly colored ink painting.