A few years ago, in that ancient city where raindrops were dripping on the bluestone slabs in front of every house, oil-paper umbrella beads carried the spinning and faded lead. In a blink of an eye, countless water pools reflected the frost of the misty rain, and the pavilions were waiting for the geese to fly by, especially during the rainy season.
Whispering like a dream, a moment of youthfulness.
Passing through the exquisite and vast universe, countless dust flies through the carefully woven clouds, watching the sunset with Baidu Kurong, flying over thousands of glass-like snow-capped mountains, and then crossing the vast and transparent sea.
A paper skeleton umbrella and half a windmill were swaying unsteadily due to the misty warm current, so it was better to put them away.
Meng Yanyu, the God of Forgotten River, whose life lasts as long as the sun and the moon, had no idea of love in the world until she met a butterfly hundreds of years ago. Its warm eyes were imprinted on her heart, and they have been entangled with it for most of her life.
Then the fragrant ink on the rice paper turned sharply, flowing down drop by drop through the old paper.
What is a living? What is death?
The time I spent with him in Suzhou and Hangzhou has become dusty and stranded in my heart.
How many turbulent years can it take to bury the countless stories of love, hate, and hatred in a cup of dust?
Encounter, acquaintance, parting, reunion, silence, staying together.
How many years later, in the cool autumn of 1927, she once again rescued his reincarnation in the land of Suzhou and Hangzhou. From then on, they were inseparable. They stayed together day and night for six years, and finally came to an end.
Born as an orphan, he finally found his own home and looked forward to the future like a newborn. But far away in Suzhou and Hangzhou, Meng Yanyu felt as if his heart was dead and she could only guard her silently.
The peach blossoms in the early spring cover the ancient city, a hairpin of magnolia is densely pinned to the branches, small lily of the valley adorns the hair of a water town girl, white daisies melt the ice and snow, a beauty in peach clothes leans in front of the door, and a babbling child bites the candied haws, but his teeth are sore.
Years passed by thousands of times, and one day three years later, he finally held her hand again.
Gu Zhichu, after all these years, I no longer dare to say those words easily.