I have walked through the south of the Yangtze River, and the faces waiting for the seasons are like the blooming and falling of lotus flowers.
If the east wind does not come, the catkins in March will not fly.
Your heart is like a small lonely city, just like the bluestone streets facing the evening.
The tillers are silent, and the spring curtain of March is not lifted. Your heart is like a small window tightly closed.
My dada's horseshoes are beautiful mistakes,
I am not a returnee, I am a passerby... ——Zheng Chouyu
A short story about secret love.
Intention: A little thing about youth