Gu Chao saw that the entire Rejuvenation Hall was starting to get busy, so he wanted to wait for them to decoct the medicine out, and then go to the Heihe Institute together.

Finally, there was finally hope that they would be cured, Gu Chao was overjoyed, she should have been happy, but when she thought of her dead uncle, her heart ached.

So, she had a decision in her mind.

"Old man, how long will you have to fry this medicine?"

"I'm afraid it will take a while, although the medicinal materials are listed, but I still have to try the method repeatedly."

Gu Chao said.

"Sir, do you know where that uncle's home is?"

The old gentleman shook his head, indicating that he didn't know, but Ling You replied.

"I know, he used to live in the area of the Luoshui River, I don't know if he still lives there, but now that he has passed away, the news has been sent home, I'm afraid that his wife has taken the child and went to seek help from his mother's family, right?"

"Can I go there and have a look?"

"But of course you can, what are you doing there? Because he died of a serious illness, his body must have been burned. ”

Gu Chao said firmly.

"But I still want to go and see, can you lead the way?"

"Absolutely."

Ling You hurriedly replied.

In this life, the wind and smoke are passing through the years, holding the red dust, the morning and twilight, and the words are love. The two depend on each other, like a flower attachment, you are my only warmth, not negative, prosperous lips lingering. On that day, the sky was cloudy, as I was in the mood. Stepping on the broken sentimentality, the eyes are frosty, the wind blows, and the cold is still cold. Close your eyes, I can't remember your complete smile, the thousand-year-old red dust, at this moment, there is a lingering feeling, and my world begins to snow

Qian Ying sells, and the guest also stands a broken bridge; The paper umbrella is thin, and the clouds are miserable and the sky is high. Drunk in the western suburbs, I blow the flute, wanting to wave. Qingming mourns, sacrifices to the first generation of arrogance, tears shake the candle flame; The cycle of the year, the weeds have been covered with autumn artemisia. Su curtain covers, the Red Mansion raises wine as a song; poppies, who engraves the dancing posture; Drunk with flowers, gurgling and cold; The golden wisps are curved, and the scrolls are floating and falling; Partridge sky, gaze into the previous life...... The smoke and rain are getting farther away, and the cold moon is slightly shallow, how can you be pitiful? How do you sleep?

Light ink fragrance, Alluring City Yan that life of the old world, gently bounced away the smoke and dust on the body, vague thoughts for you to draw a shallow shelf, no longer that life waiting in the sea dry stone oath, no longer that life waiting in the words of the wind and snow, who depicts the sorrow of human feelings, spread in the troubled times, whose endgame flower season, poured out in midnight, whose tears, in the passing years.

Affectionate, meaningful. Love the field planting, printing double hearts. Fight but infatuated against the vulgar dust, the flying eagle solves the love of northern Vietnam. Junyi, I'm crazy. Thousands of delicate, thousands of pity. Slender hands hugging, tenderness to each other. Lingering embroidery covers, shy spring. A smile is a gentleman's heart, and a word warms my arms. Recalling the fate of his previous life, tears fell into a mound to complain about Meng Po. Misfulfilled the vows of several lifetimes. The mandarin duck neck has become empty. Hate is endless.

Cook a glass of wine, warm the frozen heart, and drink the vicissitudes of the world; Close a window, can't hide the sadness in your eyes, who is still singing shallowly on the other side of the cloud curtain; Cut a light, through the red makeup of the sky, whether you are the same as before duplicity. When you wake up from a dream, there is nowhere to hide when you are lonely, are you as obsessed with it as I am?

Butterfly Shadow divides the love of a lifetime, composes a song for you alone, a thousand-year-old love song, and is willing to dance for you for a lifetime. Draw a dungeon room. I can't wait for the old man who can't wait, who will gently wipe away the poison that breaks my heart for me? Tears are accompanied by infatuated anticipation. I look forward to it, the flowers don't fall, the fate doesn't break, don't miss me.

The remnants of the wine are cold, at that time, the west chamber, the jade screen is carved with mandarin ducks, sitting on the copper mirror appliqué yellow, the thin lips are dotted, and the shadow is oblique cloud screen window, "the sycamore leaves have been three watches." "Backhand pipa language, the moon is full of the west building, and the velvet snow stains the sleeves. The soul is still drunk, the withered willows on the riverside, when will the prosperity be closed? If you want to send away your sorrows, who will look back for half your life?

The green shirt smoke and rain guest seems to be an old man.

The meaning of this sentence is that the smoke and rain are coming, knocking on the doors and windows, like an old man, returning as promised. It is suitable for themes such as "encounter" and "poetic landscape", and can be used like the owner of the village to "poetic Jiangnan has white walls and a gentle breeze and drizzle." You don't need to go outdoors, as long as you stay at home and sit quietly in front of the window, you can see the rain knocking on the bluestone slab in the alley, just like the crystal flowers blooming, and there are green shirts and smoke and rain guests, as if they are old people. ”

In the depths of the smoke and rain of the ancient style and beautiful prose, a pillow of blue dreams is emaciated alone

In the depths of the smoke and rain, a pillow of blue dreams was emaciated alone.

Whose brush, dipped in the moonlight, rendered the other side of the Meishui into a touch of blue, sparse smoke and light, enveloping the waterside courtyard, but also caged a blue heart, the clouds and smoke dispersed, and gathered, those deep and shallow blue, it was thick and light, light and very thick.

The moonlight knocks on the window and dances with the candle shadows.

The eyes in the rhombic mirror flowed, blushing a little gracefully, but looking back after the eyebrows, smiling and asking the depth of the time

The peach wood is combed, the long hair is like a waterfall, the wrist is lightly raised, the green sideburns are piled up with clouds, and the hairpin is a jade hairpin.

The sound of the flute comes from the depths of the leaf, the clear sound is long, weaving a plain paper around the moonlight, stroke by stroke, the book is full of warmth, and the joy is all over the place.

I thought that this was the first life, but I didn't know that the full moon was missing a few degrees, and the time in the palm of the palm was like an hourglass.

When the years run over the rhyme of Song Ci over and over again, it is not only the expectation that hurts.

Under the erosion of resentment, the light blue dream language fades day by day, and whenever the new moon rises, the choked piano sound cannot recall the passing years, and the sadness condenses into frost flowers, and climbs up the green silk inch by inch, and the eyebrows are crooked in the old mirror.

The moonlight is light and cold, and the sorrow and farewell in the book are cold, and the silent rhetoric cannot describe the desolation of a city. The brocade book is folded layer by layer, and the smoke and dust are paid, and only after the blue bird sleeps, the old year is washed away with tears.

The night is slightly cold, the mood is not good, and it is another year in the blink of an eye. By the window and the railing, there are festive fireworks that are colorful with thoughts, the fragrance of tea, and the graceful heart.

It seems that he has become accustomed to such a quiet, thinking deeply and looking for himself. The paper that lays out the memory, dyes some things in the depths of the soul into color, and pastes them into paintings, whether it is good or bad, it is after all the traces of one's own soul.

Perhaps, the hustle and bustle of the world, many past events will eventually become clouds, light tears with the wind, listening to the vicissitudes of life and singing in a low voice, whether it is bitter or happy, bit by bit, all in the white horse through the gap into a smile looking back.

In the flow of time, there must be something, let us cry, laugh, to pursue, to explore, to stand on the other side of the thought, to exile the years, the shallow brush is quiet, in the trance of those dreams and foolishness, laughter and tears, one by one in the window of the soul freeze, some beautiful love and sorrow, in the piece of queque, slowly release the quiet agarwood of the years.

Slowly I learned that life is a journey, everyone is on the way, and everyone is unconsciously passing by the scenery along the way. There are many times when life is like water, stones pass everywhere, and the waves are stormy; There are many times when life is like a dream, looking back, dreaming of Yanran. After a handful of years, those silent pasts are also interpreted into the deep flow of still water in the red dust, meandering the warmth and coldness of life.

Walking through the world, whispering about the passing years, looking for dreams, always supporting a long penny of memory. In the time of condensing incense at your fingertips, listening to the past, "lying on the pine at night and the moon, looking at the smoke on the river", some romance is far away in comfort; "The bright moonlight in front of the window, suspected to be frost on the ground", some thoughts are soft in Ningxin; "The night rain is made into autumn, just in my heart, teach him to cherish and protect the wind and flow", some of the fetters linger in the grievances.

Slowly, I learned that people are on the journey, and there are many misses, and the liver and intestines are broken; There are many encounters that I will never forget. Some infatuation may be exchanged for exhaustion; Some searching, let it go with the wind, may be the most true. Some people are haunted by dreams, but they are suitable to keep them in their hearts; Some things, let go gently, may not be easy; Some walked by, very light, very light, but very painful

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