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.

But I remember that year, under the same blue moon, a green shirt came from thousands of rivers and mountains away, the wind and dust rose, the bamboo curtain rolled, and the surprise of not having time to raise his eyes, on the string of the water, a wave of light trembling was drawn, the water blue splashed a little, and on the plain white skirt, Zhilan gradually opened.

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.

Over the years, when the sun and drizzle have pulled away the last trace of blue, the pure white dream soothes the dull aches that appear from time to time.

There is a sparse shadow slanting into the window, reflecting the idle scrolls, and between the lines of the lonely words, a little warmth is circled, and the details are broken.

When I opened the door that had been sealed for a long time, I realized that the long-lost morning light had turned the sky into pale gold. With a sigh of relief, when the eyelashes fluttered, the dream had landed lightly, and the waves were not alarmed.

The sound of the flute rises again, rolls a tree of pear blossoms and snow, becomes a mound, buries the wounds under the moon, and the cold of the night.

Look up, the blue of the sky; Low eyebrows, the blue of the sea.

Cut a wisp of blue to weave dreams in the morning light, decorated with a few petals of white clouds of Ning Xin and the clarity of the waves, on the dream of white flowers on a blue background, there is no wind and no moon, no resentment and no anger, and since then it has been full of earthly peace.

Beautiful Ancient Style Prose (2)

The rain in the depths of the year

Looking back, in the depths of the passing years, there are always some commemorations that have penetrated into the bottom of my heart.

The dust and smoke have passed, Shaohua is extremely victorious, and there are still many melancholy ---- inscriptions in the south of the Yangtze River

Jiangnan is the hometown of rain, rain is the coat of Jiangnan, and Rain Lane is the woman of Jiangnan, graceful, gentle, and picturesque.

Circles of gentle ripples, fainting a boat of smoke and rain in the depths of the south of the Yangtze River, I still remember that in that mottled afternoon, I accidentally found this side of ink, and I forgot the way I came. A few people's houses, blue bricks and tiles, lacquered doors and copper rings, gently and shallowly, evoke the long-lingering Jiangnan dream and rain alley in my heart.

The moment I bowed my head, I sketched your appearance, the rain-soaked bluestone slabs, and the mossy naughty little feet; The eaves corner of the ancient and leisurely palace gate is still meandering with the beautiful face of the world's glaze; In the small attic where the vermilion fades, a touch of cold fragrance blooms in the window lattice. I curled the corners of my mouth and secretly stared at your smile for fear of breaking a rare wisp of silence in this earthly world. The time fragments that have passed away, dripping, clear and ethereal, this rain, a pool of clear water, gradually became clear in Wu Nong's soft words in the ears, and the laughter of the women playing with each other was still so crisp and loud. Five years of time, carried away by flowing water, red cherries, green plantains, how many stories flow in the text, how many dreams look back, whether we are still the original appearance

On that day, you wore a blue cheongsam, held an oil-paper umbrella, and wandered alone in this long and lonely rainy alley, which should be the unique charm of oriental women. Turning your eyes back, your deep and clear pupils, if you don't pay attention, you will fall the elves of the mortal world, without makeup, but you can't hide your elegant temperament like an orchid, a snowflake, it will fall down your skirt, at the end of the rain alley, shallow to tell the autumn heart. The breeze accompanied by the drizzle, sending a trace of lilac sorrow, as if I saw the lilac flowers, one by one, frowning in the rain, it is so amorous, perhaps contaminated with her unique fragrance, floating in this long alley, you with grievances add a ray of tranquility.

The moonlight shrouded the quaint alleys like a rhombus veil, a guzheng song floated in, a long and tactful tune, looking at the end of the world, full of lovesickness, only the shadow to whom every note goes, are floating thousands of miles away, I don't know, that he, has ever heard this song played with the soul of the earth and the wilderness. Ask what night it is, do you know who is the flower in her heart, red overnight, like a dream, drunk shadow swept by a glimpse, in this light smoke and rain in the Jiangnan alley, to the tulip flower, finally dispersed, far away. A drop of clear tears, disrupting the strings, many years later, I only remember that you are white like snow, fragrant, as intoxicating as a hundred years of aging, but it has always blurred your face, and can only become a touch of sadness.

The floating life is dark, and the old scene is gone. In the reflection of the past, the face in the wind has disappeared, and all the fragments of the story have been decisively buried in the abyss of time. The vague outline of the dream, the wet memory, and the hatred left by the amorous emptiness, how abrupt.

The cold wind blew off the acacia maple leaves, and the lonely thoughts carried a mottled taste, adding a little resentment and sorrow to the heartache of parting. The red dust is vast, the heart is shaking, I don't know, who else will be soaked in the vicissitudes of my eyebrows, brushing away the wind and frost and coolness.

The night is hazy, and the smoke is cool. The lonely shadows are scattered all over the lonely in the snowy night, and the ethereal thoughts deduce the obsession of sheng songs, and the passers-by who have been crushed season after season. The remnant dream of this life, it is difficult to tell the sadness of parting, for you to write a long rhyme, for you to write a love relationship, for you to ...... Perhaps, all of it, but it's just wishful thinking.

Looking back at a lifetime of thoughts, an encounter of a lifetime, a moment of acquaintance, cherishing each other is an eternal year. The sweetness of sharing joys and sorrows, and the light words and laughter in the ears, all turned into parting memorials in the sighs of the shadows.

The heart is far away and looks at the sky. Without you in the dust and rain of this life, I am happy. Gently wave away the dusty sleeves, make a cloud of lovesickness, and throw the full worry into the surging river, but I don't know if there is still waiting on the other side of the vicissitudes of the sea? Several times of wind and rain, several times of tears, and the persistent thoughts left eternal desolation.

Affectionate and empty hatred, since ancient times, sad and parting. Everything that was before has become a lifetime of reminiscence, searching, cold, amorous and always ruthlessly hurt, parting and hateful.

Affectionate since ancient times, he has left hatred in the air, and wants to sing acacia to the moon.

The origin of good dreams is the most waking up, and the tears are dripping like zero. If it is lost, let it be lost, no more memories, no more interpretations, no more sadness, no more resentment...... That is to understand the true benefits of life; If you are blindly immersed in painful sorrow, entangled, ups and downs, knowing that fate and feelings are an unsolvable equation, but struggling to find the answer, it will be a bit too futile.

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