Last year, today, in this door, the faces of people and peach blossoms reflected each other's red.
The human face has gone nowhere, but the peach blossoms still smile in the spring breeze.
Fireworks in March, misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, who's sorrows and joys are carried by that enchanting peach blossom like blood? Where did those people who passed by each other in the turmoil of time go... A romantic encounter in the old days, for you and me, is a disaster or fate.
Conception: