When I was young and romantic, I wrote poems, wrote books and drank wine, but the arrow was in my spirit and the tiger was lying in wait.
The long sword distinguishes the will of the world, and the wolf hair is willing to let the temple wither.
Tangdi is dyed with the bright moonlight in spring, and the sound of bamboo sends the wind down the forest in autumn.
A gentleman enjoys the four seasons and sighs at the green hills.
Qiaokan practiced calligraphy hard and finally managed to write something that was barely decent. She secretly wrote a small note and handed it to the man, which said: "How deep is love? Deep in the mountains, the sunset and the deep autumn rain." The man laughed after reading it: "Are you going to go on an expedition?" She was confused. Later, Qiao Kan knew the meaning of that sentence and became frustrated and stopped paying attention to him. One day, I fumbled for a small piece of paper on my pillow. On it was a familiar phrase: "What is love in this world? It can only be made between life and death."
How deep is the Forbidden City? The nine sons were competing for the title of legitimate daughter, and the beekeepers were all over the place. One day, the Thirteenth Master casually broke off a flower and gave it to her.
(P. S. I didn't read novels when Qingchuan novels became popular. These days, Qingchuan novels are being filmed in TV series. I recalled watching Bubu Jingxin before, and suddenly I wanted to write a story about the Thirteenth Master. It was purely for entertainment, not sophisticated. The poem above does not rhyme, it is just written randomly.)
Intention: A humble gentleman, as gentle as jade.