Where to find the fireworks yesterday? Three thousand petals fell in my dream. Drunk and lying down, but listening to the partridge's complaints. In those years, the willows were new, and the drizzle was chasing the spring swallows. Pavilions and pavilions, singing and smiling, but parting. The pen has come to this point, the past love relationship is broken, and the new sorrow is added.

The small pavilion drinks alone, the plum rain falls, and the old people of the willow are remembered. On the bank of the ferry river, looking forward to returning to the sail, the sail is gone. Often sick wine, eliminate Zhu Yan, who will break grievances? A lovesickness, how much attachment? Look up at Nanyan.

Sigh the spring flowers and autumn moon, the scenery is fleeting, and the moon is alone in the wine. Books are prosperous in the world. For whom did the pen add? Once you enter the red dust, it is as deep as the sea, half a world of sadness and half a world of sorrow. Mingyue shines on the mirror table again, and the rouge is still there. That's it, the listener is not there, the string is gone, the viewer is gone, and the pen is closed.

How long has it been? Don't wait for the twilight of your indulgence. Yesterday, the former ministers and lords covered the history, and finally returned to dust, only the rioters remained for eternity. Wine is famous, poetry is profitable, and the slight fragrance flows a few degrees a year. Drunk and lying in the fireworks field, in a dream, waking up confused.

Since ancient times, the amorous and saddest autumn, the southern geese go, the yellow leaves float, and the cold water of a river reflects the cold hook. With Yiyi Pavilion Ferry, more than six years, letters, things are not people add to leisure. I only hope that the beautiful woman knows my heart, and the poor scenery haunts my heart. The breeze disturbs the dream through the window, the sky is slightly cool, and it is cool in Yangzhou.

There are three thousand spiritual dew, and there is no sorrow. The heart is thousands of miles away, but I don't know it, and I have empty tears. Pick the sun and turn the moon and give it to the pink hands. The door of the poor heart is tightly locked, the flowers follow the water, and the water flows freely. A piece of cinnabar thoughts are disturbed, the past is sad, gentle and thin.

Elsewhere in the painting building, the pear blossom rain in March. The makeup table adds dust, and the diamond flower does not know. Yesterday was a fireworks dream, where is the dream drunk? When will you wake up from the dream? The green, fat, red and thin world sighs, and the clothes are getting wider, who knows?

Seven years of flowing scenery and dust, playing the ancient road, looking up at Chang'an. The pavilion of the painting building is still the same, and the eaves surround the new swallow. Wake up from a residual dream, and the window is bent with silver. I miss each other heavily, but I don't say anything when I see each other.

The palace gate is deep, and the courtyard is cold. Glory is a dream. The organ is calculated, and once the king is favored. Ronghua is fleeting, and the time fades into the air. On the painting pavilion alone, I saw several fireworks. Thinking of the beloved, the resentment of the spring returns to Yanming.

The rain falls on the empty steps, and the little ones reflect the tears of the people. The past is poignant, and the paragraphs are like Gu drinking themselves. Peach blossoms in March, withered and waiting for the annual rings to wither and remnant Shaochun, looking back and sighing, infatuation hurts people better than the blade.

The smoke and rain are numerous, how many buildings are dark and dusk? Wild boats are alone, who is Wupeng Qingxiao sending? The past is emaciated, and this love is not to be empty and hateful. During the Qingming Festival, I broke the new willows in the south of the Yangtze River.

The pen is re-mentioned, the love word is difficult to fall, and the night is always sorrowful. The lanterns are shaking, the snow is falling on the temples, and the memories of the past are bleak. Last year and now, laughter and laughter, who would have expected to leave the funeral? Alone in the pine hall, the chaos was stirred, and the string sound life was brewed.

The words are choked, and the column leans after dusk. The wine entered the throat and turned into tears. The fate is difficult, and Luan Jing is thin. The geese return to the place, and they are sad for a thousand miles.

The leakage of the eaves is frequent, and Xiao Xiao falls asleep in the night rain. The lantern outside the house shook a little poignantly. The years go by, let the dream color peach blossom dye. An inch of tenderness, an inch of amorous liver.

The candle shakes the night and is quiet, leaning on the railing to look at the river pavilion. Chanyue seems to be at that time, not as usual Zhu Rong. Spend the wine of solitary illness, how to spend the night forever. When the rain breaks the south of the Yangtze River, the willows are folded and the Qingming is clear.

The wind and snow fell all night, and a white shirt stood in a long pavilion. A promise bears the light, and the stars are littice all night. A dream of the world, a piece of paper defeated the city. A song is scattered everywhere, a drink, a sigh and a float.

The river is old, and the broken voice is sad. Who will pity the falling flowers? But listen to the west wind. The waning moon shines on Huarong, but you haven't returned. Leaning on the riverside every year, how many times do geese fly south?

When the apricot blossoms are first on the Qingming Festival, the rain is embellished with green smoke, and the old face is known to a few people? In the past, the red paper and ink have faded, and the words are left to tears. Don't be greedy for a cup of love in your heart, the eternal night is long, and you will be sad in vain. Only send thoughts to add pen inkstone, the book is not half, and it is another year old.

The willow wind is urgent, the doves are singing, and they walk into the painting pavilion alone. In the past few years, the romance still exists, but it is just Cangzhurong. In the past, I didn't know sorrow, but now I have tasted sorrow and dare not climb to the top. The twilight rain is added, the umbrella is not opened, looking at the smoke village in the past, what time is the candle bright.

The lonely boat is a leaf into the picture scroll, the red pavilion on the riverside, and the willows are piled up with smoke. The pavilions and pavilions reflect the blue curtains, waving two or three points. Things are people, not flowers, but people are not seen. Sighing slightly, the strong wine has not disappeared, and the boat has passed thousands of shores.

There is a ruthless situation, and the promise is like water, and the fingertips are lightly drawn. A dream of glitz and wealth, looking back suddenly, who hurt Shaohua? If you meet you for the first time, why do you need to break your bowels, and you will be worried.

The twilight rain suddenly increased, and the orchid boat followed the river, passing two or three smoke villages. Upong is a solitary place to watch the fishing fire. When I was drunk, I thought about the Yiren, and I looked for fireworks in my dreams. The bell of the wild temple is shocking, and the rain is realised.

Outside the pavilion to urge flowers and rain, the wind through the north window Xiao. Flower people have long been dreaming, and they never remember Jinqiao. I don't believe in amorous words, but I borrow a cup to eliminate it. Flick the dust incense sleeves, and the hibiscus boat shakes.

The wind penetrates the cold screen and the red candle shakes, and the dressing table looks out of the window. The moon is like a hook, I miss thin, and it is difficult to find Zhu Yan in the best period. Three thousand troubles, how can a pot of Yuqiong be poured? The wine has not disappeared all night, empty and lonely, ruthless but mocking the affectionate.

A pot of jade qiong is drunk on the riverside, and a flat boat flows with the river. Wupeng listens to the rain and realizes Zen, and the green lights and yellow rolls float through. Dreams are long, what is the love of ordinary fame? Thinking about it, what is the sorrow of life? Now and the past have broken through the dream of red dust, right and wrong are left for themselves.

Dreaming of rain and smoke, the old history carves the annual rings, and the painting building stands towards dusk. Last night, the west wind withered red, the candles were drunk, and the wine was even deeper. Alone, don't rely on the railing, return to the boat in the sky, and don't see your beloved. A piece of paper lovesickness, the two places look at each other, and the autumn moon shines on the dust three times.

Sandalwood is added, and the jade fan is wrapped around the green screen of the building. Holding the pen inkstone, not a word has fallen, and the eyebrows of Yiren tremble. In March, the murmuring spring water flows endlessly in the south of the Yangtze River. The boat is far away, and the infatuation is cold, but the old people's hearts are changeable.

A round of Jiang Yue is full of sorrows, and sorrows are biased towards the heavy building. Looking at the end of the world, does Lu Yaojun know?

The snow falls on the spring flowers, and the eyes are cold. The sound of the flute broke the intestines and played the dead. The wind shines through the thin shirt, and the night is up. Fishing fire in the distance, warm cold river. 【April snow in Chunjiang】

I have no choice but to go up to the heavy building, and the blue sky is flowing for thousands of miles. Hundreds of love threads are around my heart, I don't sleep for ten nights, and I complain seven or eight songs. Spring red five or six degrees, three or four degrees and revisit, the two places are the same Chanjuan, for a frost white head?

The wind blows around half of the city, and a white dress sets foot on the Qingming Festival. The heart is broken and the heart is broken, and the flowers are gloomy and affectionate. Not to mention the lingering things of the past, the wine man has not woken up. Every year, the bridge is broken, and the years are impermanent and silent.

The drizzle is flying, and the steps are rainy. Last year, I said goodbye to you and tasted the lovesick cup. In the dream, three thousand petals fell, and the flowing water was ruthless. If you think about what is the most heart-wrenching, but gentle and cold.

Outside Xinghua Village, the flying flute is dark, and the horses are not in a hurry. When will the yellow sand pierce armor be returned? [Preface 1] Loulan wolf smoke burned the city, and the soldiers finally became famous in a hundred battles. Guanling brocade clothes returned to their hometown, and they didn't see the Yiren on the Qingming Festival. 【Preface 2】Yang Hua fell to the door of Li's house, once a son of heaven and a courtier, the armor was heavily draped and the blade came out, and the sword was waved to repay the king's kindness. 【Preface 3】The beacon smoke finally stepped on the cold bones, and the white hair of the book flowed for years. Fame and wealth are all scattered, and when you go to the country, you will smile and be safe. [Preface 4]

【Battle Collection】