Jiangnan in February, pink and tender under the drizzle, like a shy Jiangnan woman, looking across the river.

Who is allowed to be in the Jiangnan Huatai, the drizzle is hazy in the water town, a green cloth oil umbrella looms, the curved eyebrows and phoenix eyes under the umbrella, the ripples in white clothes, the light dance of the robe, and the reddish thin lips are telling who the lovesickness in the deep place of this rainy dream?

The drizzle hit the red lacquered wooden railing in the west wing, and hit the scattered green silk sideburns by the window, without a splash. The slender green onion white fingers brushed the corners of the eyes, as if there were traces of time, and what kind of thick longing was carried under the skin that could be blown and broken? People from afar, are you okay? This Jiangnan who is in a hurry, this Jiangnan where the rain falls without a trace can't give her an answer.

The red wax on the side of the table seemed to have been stuck there for a long time, and the bronze mirror could only slightly reflect the drizzle outside the window. People say that the rain in the south of the Yangtze River is a continuous sorrow. She stretched out her slender fingers, and her fingertips touched the rain, but she wanted to pin all the thoughts she had been full of for a long time to this rain, and let this rain be brought to the green shirt in the distance. However, the rain in the south of the Yangtze River, just like her in the south of the Yangtze River, the lingering silky rain can't go so far, and it can't carry too deep feelings, so it falls like that, dripping on the petals remaining in the rainy season, only splashing a little splash.

By the long pavilion, she still remembers the melodious music, speaking softly, just like the rain in the south of the Yangtze River and the song in the south of the Yangtze River, which is refreshing, and also like the peach blossoms blooming in the spring of the south of the Yangtze River, which makes people so nostalgic.

Now, I don't remember how many spring and autumn seasons it is, the rain in the south of the Yangtze River is still light and skillful, elegant but I don't know when to leave, in the hazy mist in the distance, the mountain shape is so unreal, like a fairyland, it seems to be far away and untouchable, just like being imprisoned in the drizzle of the south of the Yangtze River in her resentful state of mind.

It's spring again, by the broken bridge in the south of the Yangtze River, the light rain is still singing softly, a green cloth oil umbrella looms, and the green silk caresses the fine willows, as if waiting for the swallow to return; The mountain pillow is cold, and the peach blossoms are still there. In this hazy smoke and rain in Jiangnan, she is dressed in white, dusty, lingering like rain but sticking to a small persistence, and it seems to have stood by the broken bridge in Jiangnan in the rain for thousands of years.

In the distance, there are horse's hooves splashing a piece of falling flowers and rain flowers, with a faint fragrance, with the unique warmth of the rain in the south of the Yangtze River, with the twilight that is getting thinner and thinner after warm wine, gradually approaching...... Jiangnan Yuru has been dreaming the same dream all along. In your dream, you hold a red embroidered umbrella and walk among the flowers full of spring. In the breeze, the rain fluttered like mist, and the thin shadow made me feel "pitiful". The spring grass is like washing, naughty hindering your leisurely steps, wetting the pink silk trouser legs, and soaking your lonely mood. Looking at the green mountains in the rain, the melancholy on your face tells your loneliness. "Gentle drizzle

Ji Kang is you back, I can't imagine that I am afraid of hearing bad news every night,

It's almost noon, why hasn't Mrs. come back yet, Xiang'er is anxiously circling around the house, it's raining outside, Madame is pregnant again, the more I think about it, the more terrible it becomes, no, I'm going out to find her.

Madame, Madame Xiang'er artificially arrived. The voice came first.

Be quiet, don't worry about this water, this mountain, look at the mountain, the forest is dense in the distance, 6. The sound of bamboo is like Xiao, and the distant and mysterious music is as soft as water; The falling flowers are colorful, and the delicate and soft petals dance like dancers...... Through the stone arches, the scenery in front of you is changed, the mountains here are abrupt and rugged, and the stones there are exquisitely poetic, like the ingenuity of nature's skilled craftsmen. Isn't there something poetic about it?