In the quiet and tranquil Palace of Our Lady of Yaochi, the peach blossoms bloom freely in the garden, and the fragrance lasts for a long time. No one knows for whom this flower is so warm and for whom it is so public. As if the sky was jealous of the beauty, there was a thunder, and one of the particularly pink peach blossoms was broken. The branches fell leisurely, fell, and fell, leaving a pink shadow in the world and a refreshing fragrance.
In an instant, all the peach blossoms fell one after another, decisive and domineering, uncompromising and uncompromising, determined to pursue the peach soul left in the world.