People are busy, the year is rushing, and autumn is turning into early winter in a blink of an eye. The black tea is brewed slowly and the ink is thickened.
The moon hangs on the window, the wind moves the shadows, and the sound of the cuckoo is unbearable to hear. It's hard to sleep when you're drunk, slow tasting yesterday's love.
The fragrant quilt is warm, the zither is singing, and the phoenix and phoenix are full of music. Push the cup and the cup, the butterfly dances and the flowers are drunk.
?Since parting, there is no trace, and the west chamber is empty for good dreams. Tossing and turning in the cold bed, how can the sorrow be melted away.
Thousands of mountains are far away, drifting indeterminately, and traveling alone at the end of the world. Drink up the residual pot, raise your eyes and look forward to the journey. (Remember the site URL: www.hlnovel.com