There is such a quiet winding path called Moshang.
New peaches in April are fragrant.
In my hazy recollection, I vaguely remember——
That year, the man dressed in red made a promise under the peach blossoms flying in the sky: When the flowers are red on the road, he will smile when he returns to the road.
That year, a bottle of pure sweet poisonous brew was sprinkled with carved sandalwood fans.
That year, the blood and the remaining stamens stained half of the sunny sky red.
The flowers on the street are as red as red, and the flowers on the street are already red.
Now, I am on the road, where are you?