In the eleventh year of Yonghuan's reign, the wind in the capital was very strong, and a row of silver trees in Xing'an Mansion saw them off.
"You go first."
"Why?"
"I like it."
"Like it? Like the back seat?"
"Like"
The smoke filled his face, and he could not clearly see the whispers on his lips, and the sounds gradually faded away.
Intention: Stay, don't leave me alone.