When the flower shadows fall, whoever dances and sings tears dissolve three generations of love.
The case of embroidered jade pavilion, incense burner and musk deer, who hid his face and wrote a shallow book on the moonless night, leaving his soul and tears.
Flowers bloom on the other side, the lights are dim, and a curtain of candlelight disturbs the calm heart lake, causing a ripple of thoughts.
How many lingering infatuations are intoxicated by the unexpected rejection of that life.
The end of that world is full of sad poems.
In the words of Huahai Alliance, the fate has been fixed for a hundred years, and your heart and tears are crushed in the depths of the world of mortals, but you are obsessed with pens.
The porch window is full of strings, and the mirror is full of rouge.
I miss you under the moon, whose beauty the world is tired of.
Red ink residue, pray for the sky, who owes who's attachment in love.
The silence of acquaintance, the moment of parting, the passage of time,
Do you remember that quick glance?
Quiet rain falls gently, dripping in whose eyes, dancing blue, bending whose pen,
Lu 'an is full of flowers, your eyes are silent, your eyes are smiling, and your eyes are looking around.
On the lonely shore, whoever picks a petal and folds it into a bookmark will draw a broken period.
Time flies, youth is scattered, candle shadows are chaotic,
Who carved the motto of acacia on the sansheng stone, leaving residual flowers.
In the sea of flowers, who picked up the edge line of life and put on the sad song of Sansheng.
Wind blows cold smoke, ink cools and wine warms,
Who grinds his face in the dust and keeps the indissoluble bond of a lifetime ago?
Whispering in the screen window, shouting in the dream, falling flowers by the stream, smiling like flowers.
Tears fall cold, whose pen is trembling in the dark night, and a piece of paper is sad.
The bamboo slips poems in Manchu dynasty are incomplete and broken, and the feelings of three generations are deep and shallow.
From then on, you waved your sword on the battlefield, waiting for your thoughts.
Warm wine in the porch window and fiddle with the strings alone. Who whispers in dreams, meets fallen leaves in autumn.
The water flows by itself, and the lingering flowers rain at night, and Hou Jun returns to acacia.
The sword on the battlefield tries the throat, but the tears on the red paper are not collected. Zhu Yan was thin and empty, and he was worried when he heard the news.
Broke the hook of the moon, darkened the night sky, and the rhyme of the piano caused wrinkles and sadness.
Whose crazy soul in the flower sea stops at the familiar intersection and stares endlessly.
Cold bamboo smoke building, who owes who waits in this world.
Flowers bloom, but there is no smiling face to appreciate.
A hundred years of flowers, who can't forget Sichuan, lingering, leaving tears.
In the ocean of falling flowers, who smashed a piece of purples and grinded the ink of the three generations,
Waiting for your eternal poem.
The flowers on the other shore withered the prosperity of the world, wearing plain clothes,
Whose candle shadow is swaying in the wind, whose cheeks are clear, and whose dependent love stories emerge.
One night, the rain shook the dust, and the fate of life was all sand.
Flowing in the ink, half-lovesickness messed up whose sideburns.
At that time, the flowers fell without a trace, the strings were clear and the ink was lost, and the scene changed. Whoever was angry died.
Weeds bury strings, and cold fog cools pens and inkstones.
How many persistent pictures have been wiped out by the tears falling from Sansheng.
Under the moon of cooking wine, before the light dance, the smoke in the city blocked the tears of many leaders.
The flowers on the other side are numerous and the fragrance overflows the dust. The man who hurried across the forgotten river bank wrote three love lives.
The song is sad, the words are filled with smoke, and the tears and ink of this life are rich and colorful.
Looking at flowers in the rain and combing my hair in my dream, how many generations of prosperity have been ignored by that piece of ink? !