The sky was overcast and low, with a thick cloud that looked like folds and folds.

The air, mixed with cold air, swirled empty through the streets. There are not many pedestrians on the street, and in such cold weather, everyone is eager to go home early to warm a pot of hot tea and have a hot dinner.

There is not a single trace of the sun's color. The clouds covered from one hill to the other, as if they stretched farther away.

Under the clouds, the twilight was quietly covered.

A long sword with Mei Rui hanging from it, swaying slightly in the street. The bright red color is like a snow plum that has not yet bloomed, dotted in the dry air, like a little bright color in an ink painting.

A burst of black-and-gray yellow paper blew from the corner of the street, staining the clothes of a poinsettia plum. But as if he didn't care, he ignored it, looked up at the sky, hurriedly lowered his head, and quickened his pace.

Draped over him was an inconspicuous hemp smelt. Easily blending in with his surroundings, he quickly disappeared at the end of the street.

Crossing the bridge, Poinsettia Plum hurried along, intending to visit before the snow arrived. But as soon as he stepped down the hard wooden pier, his cheeks met a cold irritation.

- It's snowing.

Tai Shi Sheng Ping Tian, a corner of the small city, the eaves of the snow and smoke garden.

Sandwiched between the streets and alleys, it is inconspicuous. Only a dead tree standing in the middle of the snow garden, hanging from the faded paper, sticking out of the low wall around it, seems to be somewhat recognizable.

At this moment, a thin layer of silver has been padded on the branches of the dead tree.

The long-brewing snowflakes flutter and fall softly. On the eaves of people's houses and on the ground of white gray bricks, a layer of silver shadows is covered, like a gift of old age.

Some of the houses have been lit up with towering lights, and the warm lights are shining, and the streets outside the windows are mottled and soft by the halo.

The fireflies-like snow particles gently knocked on the shell of the coat, making a continuous "popping" sound.

Poinsettia plums finally turned into the alley. At this moment, his steps were no longer hurried, but gently stepped on the thin snow, as if his heart had calmed down with the twilight.

The slight drunkenness of the lamplight cast his shadow vaguely on the wall. Poinsettia Plum exhaled a ball of hot air, wrapped herself in a cloak, and walked to the old door that she hadn't been there for many years.

After hesitating for a moment, he slowly raised his hand and knocked on the door.

…………

After a while, in the eaves and snow smoke garden, the fire is red, and the charcoal is hot.

“…… On cold nights, guests come to tea as wine, and the bamboo stove soup is boiling red. Normally, the snow in front of the window, there are plum blossoms, it is different. ”

The tea board with fine straw piercing, and the tassel head of the hemp rope have been knotted. An old man in a white coat picked up the boiling tea soup on the stove and poured steaming tea into three white porcelain teacups.

The poinsettia plum's hemp and long sword were placed at the door at the moment. The snow on it had melted to the ground, and it was evaporating little by little under the temperature of the house.

The snow garden has a large window that is large enough to enjoy the snow view of the eaves. At this moment, the sky was dark, and I could hear the snow wind swaying outside the window, and the silver light flickered slightly on the ground.

The temperature of the fire against the chill outside the window. In front of the bed, three people sat around the table, and the three hot tea mist and water on the table were thick.

"Pingjiang yellow buds, it's still the original taste."

Poinsettia Mei glanced down at the yellow and clear tea in the cup, which could reflect the wind and frost on her face.

"I haven't been here in years, and you're getting older." The old man picked up the teacup and blew the tea leaves on it carefully, as if he had no intention of it.

Poinsettia just smiled. He picked up the teacup, and the delicate porcelain transmitted a warm current into his palm.

With a gentle sip, he put down his glass and smiled and nodded.

"Master, it's true that we haven't seen each other for a long time."

The hidden Buddha, who boiled snow in cold meditation, was an acquaintance of a poinsettia plum who was also a teacher and friend in the past.

After observing the look on the face of the poinsettia plum, Han Zen pondered for a moment, smiled and shook his head: "Monks, fate is superior." But seeing that your heart has been relieved is enough to make the poor monk happy. ”

Listening to the master of boiling snow, he didn't need to say more, and Poinsettia Plum praised leisurely: "The master's eyesight is really good." ”

The next seater was silent all along. The man looked like he was about fifty or sixty years old, and his face was also full of wrinkles, but his eyebrows and eyes were strange, which made Poinsettia Mei a little concerned.

In the Eaves Snow Smoke Garden, Poinsettia Plum naturally will not use internal force to detect this person's skills without authorization. Although he didn't know the identity of this person, since he was a guest of the master, he had no reason to suspect it.

However, although he didn't ask, Han Chan had already sensed Poinsettia's concern for the person. So he raised his hand lightly: "Oh." This person is an old monk friend. The name is Meng Susheng, and he can also be called a painting maniac. ”

The next seat was probably sitting in the house for a long time, and was already quite sleepy and listless from the heating. It was only when he heard Han Chan mention him that he shook his head and widened his eyes and stared at Poinsettia Plum.

This man, named Meng Susheng, had a withered face and resembled dead wood. The clothes were not shabby, but they were very messy. Poinsettia Mei looked at him at the same time, and saw that his two sleeves were covered with dried ink stains, and it seemed that he was indeed a painter.

“…… Hello. Meng Susheng moved his lips as if he was awake, and he showed an undisguised smile, "I'm Meng Susheng, I'm very happy, I'm honored to meet you." ”

Poinsettia Plum felt a little strange in her heart. But out of politeness, he still nodded and replied: "Painting madness, long admiration." ”

Meng Susheng seemed to be sitting with his legs numb, and he staggered to his feet. Poinsettia Mei looked at him with a crooked description and no superiority, and her heart became more and more puzzled by this person.

With a "bang", Meng Susheng rubbed his sleeve over the fresh tea in front of him when he got up. Tea was sprinkled everywhere along the cracks of the bamboo grate, but he didn't care, scratched the scalp at the back of his head, and walked away.

Poinsettia Mei took out a handkerchief and helped Han Chan wipe it. Han Chan just looked back at the back of the painter and sighed softly.

"You're here to visit...... There should be something else to do. ”

Suddenly, Han Chan spoke lightly.

Poinsettia plum was folding a wet handkerchief, listening to Han Chan's words, her body stopped.

"The old monk is sincerely happy that you have accepted apprentices." Before Poinsettia Mei could speak, Han Chan had already broken through the words, and Jinjin had a leisurely smile, "If that kid needs anything, the old monk won't refuse." ”

Poinsettia pondered for a moment. Han Chan was not in a hurry, poured another cup of tea for his empty cup, and then looked out the window.

The hookah quickly blends into the snowy night outside. The last glimmer of light had fallen into chaos in the sky, and the snow in the eaves and snow garden had already hung in the empty branches with a thin layer.