The smoke from the cooking pot curls up again, and I see the small bridge and the flowing water of my hometown in the hazy mist. I talk about the old world in silence. The people are picking flowers with their delicate hands just for the beauty's smile. They swear to stay in this life. Hand in hand, relying on the sun. The flowers are blooming. In my youthful dreams, I am always frivolous. I am boating on the West Lake. I have also lamented the impermanence of the world.

How many times have you put on makeup under the moonlight, but a little bit of it will make the ten years of cold windows endless? I have stained my clothes with tears for you, but I don’t know that you have expressed all your sorrows. I said goodbye with a shallow word, but you are fine. A glass of wine

It's hard to break my heart but I can't stop feeling sad. The sound of strings and bamboos sings a song in the Mudanjiang River. Life is like a dream. I am also hesitant about the three reincarnations. When I meet you, I think I am ordinary. Why should I sigh about life and death? Thousands of tears in the corridor. A sad smile. I am hesitant in Xianyang's dream.

It’s hard to think about beauty, the years are cool, and it’s easy time. Spring and Autumn are overturned. It’s hard to collect the old days. It’s hard to think about the wild laughter. The wandering years are cold. In the dream, it’s hard to think about dreams. Smiles are also hesitant. The sky is never old. It’s hard to desolate. When will you whisper about the vicissitudes of the world? Why sigh about the vastness of life and death——

"Written in the First Fleeting Time" I am tired of seeing lonely smoke in the desert and listening to small bridges and flowing water, and occasionally I want to wait for the most ordinary hug.

You are the most beautiful scenery I have encountered in my life, the prosperous city in the world, but you are not the necessary anchor, the small bridge and the flowing water.

Time cannot take away the past, even though it is far out of reach. Time cannot erase the memory, even though things are different and people are different. No matter how big the world is, you can’t get out of my heart. No matter how long the time is, you can’t escape my thoughts. There are always traces of thoughts and thoughts that are always lingering.

Go around the breeze and sing an old song. The bright moon sits alone by the bridge of water. The breeze and the bright moon speak quietly in the quiet place. The small bridge and the flowing water. The words are desolate. The regret will stay in my heart for a long time. The price of living up to it is unspeakable. Let the guilt last for a long time. The price of what I have missed.

The pain is unspeakable. Gains do not make people think deeply. Loss makes people profound. Without deep-rooted pain, how can there be deep-rooted memories? Without heart-wrenching loss, how can there be everlasting remorse? The longing is as bitter as tea. Aftertaste of the past is long and long.

It's as thick as wine. I'm intoxicated with the past. I'm endlessly fascinated by the small bridge and flowing water. I'm so sad that I can't sing the ancient road. I can't finish singing about the loneliness that no one cares about. I can't finish listening to the soul-stirring chant. In a small villa in the suburbs, the environment is beautiful, with the small bridge and flowing water.

The numbers are majestic and the flowers and plants are fragrant.

At the beginning, there are three thousand feet of green hair, a beautiful girl with a dimple face and a jade-faced man, a small bridge with flowing water, a peach blossom pile, a promise of a lifetime, and a lifetime, desire for nothing, dreams on the pillow, people in the eyes, relatively inseparable, spring fades, summer passes,

Autumn comes, love has passed away, there is no one to love, how long has the relationship ended, the king has been lost, the slave is still there, the stream has no flow, the peach blossoms have fallen, outside the high-walled courtyard, people are under the trees, green silk is wrapped around the branches, and their hearts are given to the wild geese

It is said that the man is lost, and the slave thinks, how can one word express the thousands of thoughts, the heart is full of grief, the sorrow is as sad as the sky, the wind and clouds have changed, the times have changed, the withered bones have been buried in three places, knowing that there is no hope, the angry beauty, the slave's use is in vain

Love is like a crazy moth, a man abandons his beloved son, can he bear to spend the whole night alone?

Looking back on the alliance between the sea and the mountains, how can one teach one's heart to be satisfied?

1. As you wish, I will sacrifice my life and death to give you a picturesque country, a beautiful city, a prosperous family, a moonlit building with deep love, and a mother who will honor the world today. 2

, As you wish, I sacrificed my youth to give you a small bridge with flowing water and a misty rainy house, I gave you a bamboo umbrella and drank tea with poems in the deep alley, I gave you flowers blooming in the courtyard and orioles singing a cappella, I gave you pink and red faces to trace flowers in the mirror.

3. As you wish, I will sacrifice thousands of hectares of my country to give you the rich clothes and light tea in the east fence. I will give you the fence to laugh at the evening. I will give you the beautiful mountains and flowing water. I will give you the love for me in my sixties.

4. As you wish, I sacrificed my youth and frivolity to give you the ancient pavilion with two people and one horse, the dim lights and the rustling stars, the joy in your sleeves and the fragrance of the wind in your life, and the icing on the cake in your dreams.

5. As you wish, I will sacrifice my ambition and passion to make you famous throughout the ages and praised by thousands of people.

I give you a gift of talent, eight fights with peaches and plums all over the world, I give you a lifetime of false fame that amazes the years, I give you in this life a chance to marry a rich man and play the piano well all over the world, chess has reached the end of the world, and the calligraphy and ink write down the stories of the country and the country.

, no one comes to play a game of chess, attacking and defending, playing black and white is like fighting Spring and Autumn and drinking wine at the end of the world, writing it down with a pen, the rain of ink is like willow bones, the face is like a good story passed down from ancient times, a picture is like snow under the pen, drawing a small bridge and flowing water with people

Playing music, chess, calligraphy and painting, your tears fall like pear blossoms, and the poetic and affectionate paintings of the next generation are as elegant as thick ink. She has shed tears like rain, and the pear blossoms are like red clouds. The sunset is at dusk, and the setting sun is too cold at the end of the world. It has turned into frost.

, cooking wine and drinking tea with you in the attic, painting your portrait, recalling the past, the night is still young, the snowy moon and frost alone paint a desolate picture, the moonlight illuminates your tears like ink rain, the beauty is like a picture, the beauties under the lamp sigh and the falling flowers are like the sunset, all like

The picturesque landscapes are like delicate flowers, and the ancient styles of music, chess, calligraphy and painting are like a branch of plum blossoms. The silk rain during the Qingming Festival is gentle and gentle. If you break a branch, you will see the white plum blossoms weeping.

In ancient times, if there is a peach blossom tree, the wedding dress is like a fire burning the horizon. Look at the tree, and the peach blossoms are dancing down.

The ancient style is like a glass of white wine. The clear brilliance dyes the wine and makes it white and flawless. With a touch of knowledge, the remaining snow accompanies the moonlight.

The ancient style is like a cup of tea, sipping the tea in the misty mist, tasting a cup, it is clear, light and elegant.

The ancient style is like a lotus, three thousand lotuses blooming in weak water, one stroke, splash-ink landscape painting.

The ancient style is like a green lantern, with a meandering stream of water to hold the lantern, and when you hold a handful of it, the flowing light slips between your fingers.

The ancient style is like a house with small bridges and flowing water moving bamboo rafts. Looking at one place, white clouds are far away from other houses.

The ancient style is like a pipa, dancing with white gauze on a high-rise building under the moonlight, listening to a song, and playing the pipa by the lake.

The ancient style is like a place deep in the mountains, where the clear water of the lotus pond sounds like frogs. If you look for it, there is an ancient temple hidden deep in the mountains.

---- Qingyuan Small bridge and flowing water, the setting sun in the desert, I have never seen that man without a name again.

Seeing flowers in the fog, lingering in dreams.

In the beautiful year of Yanying, I sigh to say goodbye.

Playing the piano under the moon, my eyes blurred with tears, I chant softly and sing a song, leaving the world behind.