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The sound of the piano in the west building is getting farther and farther

Time: 2015-05-10 Source: Original Editor: Left Light Right Row Reading: Times

西楼的琴声越来越远

The water in the Qinhuai River is still flowing shyly, like the old days.

Looking down, quietly, tenderly, like a young girl who entered the Zhangtai, she is innocent and beautiful.

After the leap month, the early winter rain came, and the dense smoky rain was dripping with all kinds of tenderness and tenderness. In this season, although it is cold, I don't feel piercing. I think the gifted and beautiful woman walking on the shore of Qinhuai at this moment, has already sunk in the tenderness of the chamber, and it is extremely dispelling.

I think that the bustling scene of yesterday is still far away, and the drummer chanting is on the stage again. The dim candlelight is stained with citrons. Two cups of sake are lonely forever. The people behind the curtain like thin cicada wings touch. With each other's unknown mustards, two trembling hearts momentarily masked the eyes that had long admired, and the millennium craving, as promised, slowly sloughed away the slender soft woven clothes.

The cooking and drinking outside the house is still continuing. A pair of foolish men and women behind the account have already lit the pillar full of youthful fragrance, yet green but not enthusiastic. The two hazy figures cling to each other from time to time. Jiangnan Yuxiang's obsession is tired and beautiful, like water tenderness.

The lotus pond outside the temple has withered lotus leaves, and the slender cable taut bow is cooking the souls under the clear waves. The flashy smoke city cannot withstand the cold wind from the north, and the crowded river channel is hard to find gorgeous films. Piece of kerchief.

The paddle was constantly moving the cold and lonely water, and the sound of the piano in the west building was getting farther and farther.

The face of the woman lying on the bow was still engraved with charming rouge, but she could no longer cover the helplessness and coldness under makeup.

There were endless lines of tears, dripping on this quiet Qinhuai River, multiplying frantically, and finally growing into pairs of duckweed in the next season.

When Chunshui warms this place again, I think you can no longer be a Geisha darling who fell into Zhangtai, but a pure and clean woman who brushed the sleeves, still charming and tender. Go to the bluestone pavement, there will be someone waiting for you at the other end of the bridge, only one person.

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