The wind blows, the snow falls, and the red plum blossoms bloom.
The vermilion blossoms of the tree bloom in the white sky and the ground, like a distant wisp of haze, gently swaying to decorate people's sight, and like sadness condensed with bright red blood, blooming in the loneliness of a winter, a few wisps of fragrance entangled in the air with the cold wind and then passed away. This life is destined to miss spring. ． ．
Snowdrop lily of the valley, the flower's opening is accompanied by teardrops, swaying obsessively in the wind, and the white jade-like stamens hang upside down, just like the endless tears in the eyes.
Ten years of pain, ten years of suffering, ten years of mourning, but those light years have just passed like this. What swayed in the candlelight was a pair of tearful eyes, beautiful eyes with cut pupils, filled with tears, just like a pool of autumn water. In the end, all he won was a slap in the face. ． ．
I blew a piece of autumn fragrance, as bright as snow. ． ．
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