The wind blows in the quiet lake, where does the sound of the piano come from?
That pavilion, that woman, that white dress.
The sound of running water in the mountains is as gentle as a bell, and the falling water splashes wet the clothes as white as snow.
Suddenly, the string breaks and the sound disappears.
Bright red flowers suddenly bloomed from the jade hands, dripping drop by drop on the table.
She didn't want to get a wound, and no matter how painful the wound was, it wouldn't be as sad as the wound in her heart.
The wind blew through the hair on my forehead, and the tears finally fell.