Su Qing was dressed in white and standing outside the pavilion holding an umbrella. There were many scars on the left side of her face, which she had made by herself. A few strands of her hair turned white again, as white as the snow today.
There is only one hosta in her hair. The hosta is somewhat damaged, but she has worn it for nearly fifteen years.
Now, everyone in the Jianghu and the imperial court wants her life. She has been hiding here for almost ten years. People from the imperial court and the imperial court dare not come near this place because of that person.
She stretched out her hand, and her palms and backs were covered with scars. The snow fell on her palms and melted quickly.
She looked up and saw that the sky was pitch black. A drop of blood and tears slid down her cheek and fell on the snow. All the snow on the ground melted...
It has become the past, and there is no longer that person who rode horses together in the rivers and lakes, raised glasses and drank together. Only the deepest memory remains, that scene of the bright moon shining on the pavilion. (Suddenly I want to write a Jianghu article)