Chengxin Hall in the snow, frozen into a crystal treasure hall, lonely on the lotus pond, looking at it from a distance, like a holy jade Bodhisattva, the sorrow in the heart of the light dust. {We don't write novels, we're just web text porters-

Hu Qingchen carried a silver fox fur, firmly covering the desolation of the white-haired thin shirt, revealing only a peachy face, showing a bit of gorgeous charm. The head under her feet stepped on the snow on the corridor of Chengxintang, making a creaking sound, like the whispering joy in her heart. It had been a long, long time since she entered the palace that she had not been so relaxed. Come to think of it, if you are willing to face everything, you don't think there is no way to resolve it.

The curtains of the Chengxin Hall have long been removed, replaced by snow-like brocade, densely grouped together, softly covering the joys and sorrows in the painting hall.

The light dust quietly entered the curtain, bringing in a few wisps of cold wind, and the silver charcoal "crackled" and burst. Looking around, there was no stove in the deserted and empty space, and as far as the eye could see, there were only stacks of books, faintly scattered with the fragrance of ink.

In the silence, there was a sudden crisp crack, and with the sound, the light dust eyes fell on the curtain of Murong Qian's inner room, and the hand holding the pipa tightened unconsciously.

After a little composure, she strode inward, leaning into the curtain and being stunned.

Quietly roasted around the stove are three portraits. In the painting, the fairy, or sleeping, or smiling, or playing the piano, the beautiful face is carefully depicted according to the appearance of the light dust, but the color is slightly light, showing a little powerless. Hu Qingchen's heart moved, Ah Qian, he was so obsessed with her!

Hu Qingchen's steps slowly paced, and when he got closer, he noticed that there were a few lines of small characters next to each portrait, which were words made by Murong Qian according to the rhythm of "Bodhisattva Man".

One of them: "Penglai Courtyard closes the rooftop girl, and the people in the painting hall are speechless." Throw the pillow green clouds, embroidered clothes smell the fragrance. Sneak into the bead lock and be shocked to realize the silver screen dream. The face is smiling slowly, and the look is infinitely affectionate. ”

Second: "The bright moon is dark and the fog is light, and the sky is good to go to Lang's side today!" Socks step incense steps, hand gold thread shoes. See you on the south side of the painting hall, and you have always been trembling. It is difficult for the slave to come out, and the king is merciful. ”

Third: "The copper spring rhyme is crisp and cold, and the new sound is slow to move the fiber jade." The eyes are dark and hooked, and the autumn waves are about to flow. The rain clouds are deeply embroidered, and they are not harmonious. The banquet is empty again, and the soul is lost in a spring dream. ”

With that smile, flat and flat, Hun Qingchen shook his head gently, no matter how cheerful and charming the lyrics were, they couldn't hide the loneliness between the lines. "No one speaks during the day", "It is difficult for slaves to come out", "The banquet is empty again", which is not the loneliness of a single shadow. Hu Qingchen thought of the "flowers and full moon" under the lantern festival, and compared with these paintings today, the fairy in front of him was a little overshadowed, beautiful and beautiful, but there was more empty and blurred.

Come to think of it, in Ah Qian's heart, no matter how peerless his face is, he can't look back and smile when he first sees him.

While Hun Qingchen was pondering, there was a sudden sound of footsteps outside the house, Hun Qingchen didn't want to meet Murong Qian so abruptly, so he panicked, so he quickly hid behind the screen.

"Poppy, what do you think of these paintings?" Murong Qian's voice was soft.

Hearing this, Hu Qingchen suddenly felt unhappy, and his eyebrows frowned slightly unconsciously. Poppy? Why did Murong Qian call a palace lady so affectionately. For the painting she made, why do you need to ask the opinion of this palace lady?