There are bandits and gentlemen who are as good as discussing and polishing.
Duan inkstone, plain brocade, lingering fragrance, none of them can cover up the brilliance of jade on the mahogany round table.
The clarity that has accumulated for hundreds of years seems to be telling a story that has long been lost in the sea of people.
The only way to say it is, most of all, it is impossible to keep it in the world, and the beauty will leave the mirror and the flowers will leave the tree.
I just want to tell you a story about love and hate, life and death, right and wrong, success and failure.
If you can understand, the loneliness in it.
It's finally over
Thank you everyone for your support O(∩_∩)O~
New work: short story about the Red Mansion
Intention: