Life is intertwined with right and wrong, and in the end it is nothing more than an infatuated love that passes by without leaving a trace, and is hard to give up on.
He is the emperor of heaven, immortal, immortal, immortal, spending time day after day, year after year.
She is a flower on the other side of the river in the underworld, named Warsaw. That day, he and Emperor Ming got drunk alone in Wangchuan, and he pulled her away casually. From then on, everyone in the heaven knew that the emperor regarded flowers as his life, holding them in his hands for fear of falling off, and holding them in his mouth for fear of them melting.