The handsome young man held up an oil-paper umbrella and walked by the pond. With tenderness in his eyes, he walked to the wooden pavilion at the end of the pond, put away the oil-paper umbrella and stood by the pavilion, shaking his white clothes. Perhaps he had never thought that the world was changing so fast. The past came to light. There was no longer a boy in white who was knocking chess pieces and setting off the lanterns, and there was no knight in black who was drunk and reading his sword under the lamp. Only the shackles of the world were left to tightly imprison him. The boy in white smiled bitterly, turned around and left, letting the rain wet his white clothes. But he didn't know that the oil-paper umbrella was picked up by someone, a young man in black. The man smiled, opened the oil-paper umbrella in the rain, and did not catch up with the young man in white. The oil-paper umbrella was lost forever. The moss marks are green on the upper steps, and the grass color is green on the curtains.
Intention: The song is wrong, Zhou Lang took care of it