In the misty rainy south of the Yangtze River in the story, there are no more beautiful flowers, no warblers chirping thousands of miles away, no catkins flying all over the city, and no charming soul of apricot blossoms in the setting sun. They never linger in the bright colors, only the light wisps of tea smoke.
With a gentle smile till the bottom of her eyes, she looked at him who was frivolous, affectionate, playful and gentle. The spring water was blue in the sky, the days when he painted boats and listened to the rain and slept sweetly, with the water-pink color of Jiangnan lotus root.
The misty shadows, the lotus pond, the moonlight on the clothes, the quiet ink forest is the place where this graceful Jiangnan tune is filled.
A little story that lingers gently and quietly like a fish swimming