Painting Luoqun with Broken Branches

We meet again in the depths of Qulan, and we tremble with tears. After a desolate farewell, the two echoed each other, the most unbearable resentment in the bright moonlight. I have slept alone for half my life, and the mountain pillow is stained with sandalwood. What is the most fascinating thing in my memory? The first thing is to break branches and paint a skirt. The setting sun was like blood. Standing alone in the snow, he stretched out his hand to me and whispered: "If I visit you and drink Oxford, I will be poor." I stared at his clear smile, raised my hand to cover his warm and generous palm, and watched him carefully brush the snowflakes from my hair. I know, this man, I can give myself completely to him. His embrace always has the power to make me feel warm and at ease.