I stepped like a song of the line board slipped in the rainy alleys, there is moss hidden memories with the rainy alleys dodging, leaving tear-stained imprints. I harbor a clear and transparent mood, as if I should go to an appointment in a past life. The sound of the rain beating on the green stone, like my heartbeat in another life. The dense humidity of the water masked the piece of green houses and tiles. Deep green stone board, deep gardenia fragrance, stained with wisps of smoke and rain. Faint ink soaked Jiangnan scroll, poetic pavilions in the ink fragrance. The rainy alley leads to the old stone bridge. Underneath the bridge, a few lines of qin books drifted away with the rain to a place where I could not go, and a flat boat slowly traveled on the green water waves of Jiangnan. Simple green clothes, long tassels inserted diagonally into the blue hairpin. The woman holding the boat was full of the color of the daisy, a face of shallow sadness. The woman is also as beautiful as a budding lotus, gentle and elegant, between the bridge and the water.
"The water is brimming with sunshine, and the rain is also strange." Su Bai two embankments, rain flowers withered in the lake. In the moist air floating in the silk willow floss, there is the lotus's ghostly worry, the orchid's clear elegance, the cherry blossom's light elegance. "Where the flowers are confused, fine butterflies dance." Butterfly wings in the Yingruo dance between the flowers, sometimes up and down, if that is the case, like a thousand years ago, the woman down the steps, silent waiting for the flowers to bloom. In the wind, soft through the brimming water waves of the six dynasties of music, with a section of thin words and flow of grief flowing with a long ancient rhyme. At the Broken Bridge, the sky is green and waiting for the smoke and rain, and the willows are still clinging to each other. I seem to see the face of the city, she has nowhere to hide from the rain, clear as glass eyes look forward to stay, and the elegant white scholar umbrella to her front. Their silhouettes gradually moving away, hazy side of the landscape, but do not know such a thousand years under the thin sorrow. Now, the Broken Bridge is still wind flying fish, things are not the same, drop into the West Lake tears ......
Qinhuai River, the waterfront of the woman low singing pianos. Under the blue-colored red lattice window flower, charming like half of the night begonia red slightly intoxicated by the wind, flowers and snow moon. Chiffon rouge-colored sarongs in the warbler song and dance curling with a delicate style. I remembered the "Rouge Tears and Drunkenness", the "Smoke Covering the Qinhuai River and the Moon Covering the Sand", and the "Cars Like Running Water and Horses Like Dragons".... Will there still be the misty sentiment of the water growing quietly? I only know, the Qinhuai flying agar moon shadow, Jiangnan on the court of the lush building, haunting my rouge-colored dream.
It's time for the Jiangnan rain and smoke. In the rain, I have been drunk on the colorful classical Jiangnan. I softly wear up the rain curtains outside the window, fine with the thoughts inside the window stitch by stitch embroidered in the Jiangnan rain and smoke ......