[Pirated will be garbled, the writer reminds: come to the starting point to read and read without mistakes!!]

Mo Liunian said seriously: "Because your brother is righteous enough, between men and women, there can not only be love, but also righteousness." ”

There are always some stories that gracefully look back over the years, and there are always some stories that meet the beautiful passing years, and the annual rings of life like a dream are deduced in the stories of aging, deducing joys and sorrows.

The years are not old, the thoughts are not young, and the heart is still year after year; Time is secretly changing, the fate is unpredictable, and the memory is still full of top-notch; Shaohua smoke and clouds, fate comes and goes, it is you and me and him.

In this scroll of time, we chase the rain wings of longing, the love of the passing years, or joy or idle sighs; in this paper, pen and ink, our thoughts are flying, the end of the world is boundless, and the cape is endless.

After several years, he was muddy, and unconsciously became the ruler of the passing years.

With the passage of time, I once fantasized about drinking a glass of wine in front of the case, drunk and dancing in an uneven life, and rehearsing a gorgeous and beautiful landscape.

It's just helpless, but in the dream, it is a red flower sigh, melancholy breeding, and the golden years are pale.

Time and time, prosperity is over, maybe the arrangement of fate, I can only be a passerby in your life, ten fingers interlocked into a luxury, this life is just a dream, miss your death, and now, bow your head and continue a song of parting, sing the passing years, for the final song of our parting, silently remember!

After the passing years, love and hate, love and hatred, everything has been in the sea, only the memory blooms into the life of the flowers, the wind flies the four seasons, no matter how the time changes, no matter how the years turn, it only cares about its own shallowness.

Flick a piece of the past, sing praises all the way, love a few lingering past, how many autumn flowers bloom the fragrance of the end of the year, and how much parting, how much time I hate, how many memories I have lost, but I can't describe the reflection of the passing years, and how much reluctance, tactfully infiltrated into my dreamland.

The seasons change silently; The flowers bloomed, silently, many years of personnel, with the flowing water, many traces of the past, chased away the flowers.

As soon as I turned around, the end of the earth; When I looked back, I was swaying.

The night is heavy, the lead is gone, and I drink away the bitterness of the passing years.

After a thousand turns, he never saw the Yiren feather fan shaking and smiling.

Maybe you should have been the clear word of parting in my pen, prosperous three lives, exiled three lives.

The story after turning around is the beginning of no ending.

The world is far away and the mountains are long, but the years are urging people to the end, a low eyebrow, a turn, and the time is wasted.

Hongchen has been dreaming for several years, and I have imagined many scenes, such as a courtyard of flowers, a room full of tea, a book and ink rhyme, and a person who accompanies me through thick and thin, and never gives up.

The four seasons go back and forth, the flow of the year is not stopped, the west wind leaves fall and sigh, and the rain and autumn are cold.

sighed for the passing years, "but only a finger, when will the west wind come, and it will not be said, and the passing year will be secretly changed." ”

We walk in the passing years, instantly turn the face of the child into gray hair, pay for the flowers, only cherish in order not to miss the good time.

Cherish life, cherish friendship, cherish time, cherish the present.

He said that he wanted the wind and snow, poetry and painting, wine and tea, and then he did what they said, they wanted to be like flowers and beautiful flowers, like water flowing through the years.

Unfortunately, they didn't.

Boil a pot of moonshine, drunk with joy and drunk with sorrow.

The light moon is faintly shadowy, and the Lanting Post Station talks about the east fence.

The wind passes through the flowers, like the story of the vicissitudes of the past; There are always some empty old things, and the years are not young; There are always seasons, a season when the flowers are cold, and the land is full of sorrow.

The years have passed in a hurry, and the years have become sand, and I can hold my dreams, but I can't freeze the years.

The memory is too warm, stinging tears, the time is like a river, the passing water is difficult to collect, and the place where you look back cools the old face.

It is easy to meet each other and stay together, and a few people know each other all the way, and they stay in a glass of wine, and they sleep with red tears and candles.

In the end, the only thing is that the flowers are flying all over the sky.

Time flies, covering the past, the old dreams left by youth at that time have disturbed the red dust and rain, put down a little red leaves to paint the autumn, sing the years like this, life like a dream of the annual rings, in the story of the old to interpret a scene of joys and sorrows, how many memories have been extinguished, how much time is not in the cold.

The years are not old, the thoughts are not young, and the heart is still year after year; Time is secretly changing, the fate is unpredictable, and the memory is still full of top-notch; Shaohua smoke and clouds, fate comes and goes, it is you and me and him.

Fireworks life, a dream of red dust.

Don't sigh that time is in a hurry, in the blink of an eye, the geometry of life, the years have changed, after the prosperity, there is still a piece of dust scattered all over the place, unchanged for thousands of years.

The wind blows and falls countless flowers, and the petals touched by the hand are fragrant and soft, like fireworks, and the beauty of the moment is frozen into eternity.

Through the lines of poetry, cut a piece of streamer, spread a volume of poetic dusk, lightly twist a melancholy, and the ups and downs of that season of loneliness and prosperity in the ink.

At that time, the light softened the palm, when the wind and the moon rippled between the eyebrows, when the thoughts flooded into the ocean, when the affection overflowed full of desire, please allow me, with a small half of the time, the book is a yearning in the passing years, and the past is like smoke into poetry.

Time is shallow, and the rain is like a stream.

The love is deep, the rain is misty, and there are many clouds of smoke and rain. "Spring flowers have dreams blooming, and apricot blossoms are waiting for you to come. ”

"After the rain, the sun is setting, and the apricot blossoms are scattered. ”

The affectionate gaze, light and budding, thousands of clouds and smoke, the fragrance of flowers drunk for years.

The flowers are over, the dust and smoke have passed, and the rhyme of the years has pale falling at the foot of the wall of the passing years, and the sadness is out of tune to bury the loneliness after the end of the song.

A plain broken coat, swaying a thousand years of looking back.

The song in the wind, embellished with the passing black cry, the Huazhang that has been messed up for a season, swaying in the ancient alley pouring Tang wind and Song rain, provoked a chaotic red with nowhere to put it.

Time has passed, and you and I have passed the years, the green silk is lingering and a little old, and how many flowers have fallen in a season.

The blooming youth is bright and blooming for a season, all kinds of tenderness leaves a faint fragrance around the fingers, and the pale moon shadow mottles the distant footsteps, can you put a heart in the days of enlightenment.

The wind swept the leaves, the passing water without a trace, the light and shadow flowed for years, and they went through several autumns.

In the center of autumn water, there are wisps of love.

The dream language is filled with nostalgia and faint anticipation.

Who is in a dream to show a roll of hands, drunk that red and delicate heart.

As a result, every time a flower blooms and falls, it is a wordless understanding.

After walking through the wind and cold and heavy dew, we will always usher in the purple and red.

After bathing in the summer breeze, bathing in frost and snow, and the hand that holds the years with you, there must be a touch of dark fragrance in the heart, that is the low chant of the year.

One season of glory, one season of sadness, prosperity is gone.

Once the fantasy is eternal, the hand of the son, but unfortunately, when the years are gone, it has long disappeared.

I had to sleep on the yellow sorghum and dream about the warmth of the past. The years are like dreams, and dreams are empty.

That touch of cool heart can't escape the tenderness of the past after all.

Prosperous sheng songs, counting the passing years, I forgot what else? The other side is silent, fragmentary, and thoughts are waving ink on my fingertips.

The sun of spring has a hint of vitality.

The summer sun has a hint of coolness.

The autumn sun brings a hint of harvest.

The winter sun has a hint of warmth.

Your arrival is a little heartwarming.

The end of the world is quiet, Xie Jun feels the clear autumn, the golden wind and jade dew meet a few times, the fireworks are drunk in a lifetime, and this life is not in vain; the joys and sorrows of the world, and the dream of pillowing, are turned into floating clouds and a little ping; tonight the drunken moon, the lovesickness dyes the West Building, it is difficult to forget the worries, the red dust is all over, and the dream is a few rounds of spring and autumn, but I hope that the years are like water, and there are no broken thoughts.

Touching time, some thoughts, like rain, dripping into the heart, some dreams, like clouds, appear and disappear.

Time is the quicksand at the fingertips, and the water-colored years that can't be grasped.

I didn't have time to gaze, and all the glitz and glamour became unbearable fireworks.

Time boils rain, the passing years are shallow, and the clear face has been frosted, will this wind-eroded years finally precipitate the heart into the old time?

This burned-out and re-ignited agarwood crumbs, with the rise and fall of the red sleeves, also have its own reincarnation.

And what about affection? Those fate that has not been deeply planted, can withstand this like a flowing year? The water rises and falls, and the ups and downs are full of philosophy and wisdom of life, ups and downs, pick up and put down, a simple thought can change the fate of a lifetime.

It is a simple encounter, in the spring flowers, red like fire, white like snow, meet you, you will meet love, is the romance given by the passing years, and time gives the eternal love. Who was at the crossroads of time and gave me a love worth remembering for a lifetime.

The hourglass of memory is generalized into the sorrow of a place in the pain of the years, and the prosperity of the passing years is precipitated into the sorrow of a lifetime, and disappears without a trace with the rolling river in the east.

Half a lifetime of exile, just to be able to touch your fingertips, outside the shallow sky, gray lone star, moonlight splashing sadness, how can love be such a distant watch.

Time, long through the causeway of life, time has never been old, when the handsome face in exchange for wrinkles, when the youth in exchange for the sunset pestle, when the resentment is lively and more quiet, when the light carving yesterday has been one by one, you know, time without a trace, no trace of the years.

At that time, the light was full of all the glitz, keeping a string of tranquility alone, and the mountains and rivers were long after the passing years, with you, it was as warm as ever.

The smell of fireworks in the world is also so simple, walking through the soft waves of Cambridge, gently walking through a period of April days in the world.

All the good things are exiled from the memory.

All the past events are hidden in my heart.

All the heartbeats are delivered to the years.

How many years of youth, above the light, in the darkness, the stars are changing, and the years are turning, I think I have seen at least a little hope.

Even though I knew that the sunshine didn't belong to me, I still couldn't help but crave that little bit of warmth.

"An inch of time is red and old, like water flowing and years are white."

A song of Han and Tang Yi songs, a faint lock and a court of leisure.

The lights are shining, the night is crushing the heart clouds, the thousand-year-old string song, the slightest into the arms, holding the tears in the eyes, infiltrating all the expectations of the past and present lives, just a pool of light ink, crushing the loneliness of the world, and retreating in Tang poems and Song lyrics.

"The green mountains do not ink a thousand autumn paintings, and the flowing water has no strings and ten thousand guqins".

Take a piece of time to walk in the passing years, look at the years like water, and the fate is gathered and scattered.

The feelings that were once attached to them slowly faded, and those who once held hands scattered as they walked.

In the passing years, we are reviewing the misses, and at the corner of the years, there are joys and sorrows.

The autumn wind and fallen leaves are scattered away from the flowers, and the affectionate cold autumn is always remembered by the night.

The forgotten season is always stranded by the passing years, and the deep memory of the distant river that played the time, let the breeze blow through the late night of longing.

The edge of sinking on Mo is shallow, and the snow falls in the three lives and three worlds as evidence, and the rain is a flower.

The love is deep and the light rainy night is gone, and the parting and reunion along the way are looking back.

The passing years are quiet, the years are silent, and the dream of tomorrow is a light end.

Even if the mottled light and shadow of the years, deceiving each other with a barren attitude, the promises in life are like the answers given to the old by time, sometimes blindly looking for the way back when they came, forgetting the original pride.

Time passes, a dream goes through the years, the world is blurred, the sea of dust changes, the red dust of the slender mo, come and go, or for the dust, or for the water, are infatuated men and women, staged a long process, joys and sorrows, gathering and scattering, coming and going in a hurry, and the autumn water has no trace.

Miss the cooling time, the years are scattered into pieces, the scenery is picturesque, the youth is gorgeous, the memory has become the only passing year in my hands, please allow me to still be nostalgic for the shallow that has disappeared from the past, in the wheel of life, you are like a fluttering lilac in the alley of my youth, and I am the red kapok that looks at each other affectionately, looking back, I have missed your attachment, happiness!

The heartbeat of the Jin Se years, those lingering memories, in the years.

The spirit is blooming on the title page of life, warm and unchanging.

The shallow brush exiles the vicissitudes of the years, the past and the present, meet according to the appointment, and whisper the twilight.

Time is like water, years are fleeting, and years fade away many of our memories, but we never change our lingering thoughts about our father......

Banxian Yao suddenly felt that she was really a villain before, and in the face of Mo Liunian's downfall and generosity, she had a feeling of shame for the first time, yes, there can be righteousness between men and women.

The estrangement was eliminated, the distance was shortened, and Mo Liunian finally understood why Banxian Yao had been lukewarm to herself, because she was afraid that she would occupy the place she identified as her future sister-in-law.

If it weren't for Banxian Yao's open and secret temptation today, Mo Liunian hadn't thought about this problem at all, knowing that it was impossible, what would he have to think about.

At dusk, the temperature plummeted, and several people arrived at a post station, which was quite large, a two-story building, and a stable in the backyard for the residents to tie their horses, and also provided free forage.

As soon as they arrived, the shopkeeper greeted them warmly, and was even happier after asking if they were staying in the hotel, and enthusiastically led a few people to the backyard first, and the stable in the backyard was not small, and there were already three horses tied to it.

Xiao Banxian smiled and said to the shopkeeper: "It seems that your business is good today." ”

The shopkeeper smiled and said: "Yes, yes, it's very deserted on weekdays, but it's rare to have such a lively feeling." ”

After the horses were settled, everyone walked into the lobby, where there were three people eating and drinking, three very peculiar people, a man, a woman and an old man.

The man was forty years old, skinny, pale and yellow, dressed as a literati.

The woman is white, chubby, greased and powdered, wearing a big red flower dress, but she doesn't look young anymore.

The old man was a dwarf with black hair and white eyebrows less than three feet, and if it weren't for the fact that the two white eyebrows were almost as tall as his body, the little half-immortal would almost treat him as their child.

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