Meng Leng Golden House. Sighing that in the slanting formation of the Qin Zheng, the plain strings were fluttering with dust. Turning into a delicate oriole and flying back, I still recognize the old green of the sandy window. It's raining, and the trees and peaches are like trees. Do you know that this hatred is difficult to level with? Like a Qiongtai, there is a chess game. The thin shadow looks like a bright candle.
The mandarin tower is broken and the jade from east and west is shed. Ask about Fang Zong, when will it show again? The green hairpin is hard to predict. Wait for the palace eyebrows to look like clouds and draw them into a raw silk painting. I'm afraid I'm not new to this outfit. The colorful fans and red teeth are all here today, I hate no one, and I listen to Yuan music. Cover your empty sleeves and lean against the cold bamboo.
