"But do you want to take a look at the story of these two people?" Seeing that Meng Nanjun's mood had eased slightly, the old man mentioned it, which could be regarded as picking up the topic.

And Meng Nanjun was indeed curious about the past of the two, hesitated for a moment, and nodded.

The old man has a bronze mirror, and his slightly withered hand is flicked on it, like layers of rippling water, revealing the past of the year.

The silk and bamboo orchestra came slowly, hazy in the drizzle, and the music was getting closer, and a boat came into view, rippling above the plain water, like the thin lips whispering, slowly flowing through the heart, but leaving a deep imprint.

"The character in this play is written about a famous prostitute, how can you act well with such a cold and indifferent appearance?"

"Mrs. Nanhou Sees the Hell" Eighty The past is all in the water is hitting the hand, please wait a moment,

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