Xiaoxiao under the wind and rain

Chapter 231 (Industrial Forest)
When she left, the moonlight reflected the water, and the phoenix trees were all over the forest.

The sound of the flute seemed to be still falling on the sleeves, and it permeated into the body little by little, and her receding back was gradually swallowed by the afterglow of the setting sun.I think, we are all passers-by.

We drink, talk about the past, talk about the past.Bamboo grove leaves shake, straw mats are wet, from the third watch to dawn, the east is white, and the flute and zither don't stop.A toast is speechless, a toast to the best knowledge in the world, a toast to the past and present, a tous to you and me.After drinking, I looked into the stars in her eyes, as before, but never so cherished.

She asked, what is the front.

In front of you are bamboo forests full of green gardens, cliffs, sweet springs in deserts, and rural fishing villages.Staying in this bamboo leaf forest, my eyes have never seen the front, only wandering and pacing.The sound of the flute and the sound of the piano are no longer intertwined, the sound of the flute goes to the end of the world, and the sound of the piano hides in the deep forest, echoing from far away, crossing the rivers and rivers.Most of the sincere affection in the world is divided into thousands of kinds, but it is just a sea of ​​thoughts and cares.

So, I replied: "Everything is as you wish.

For many years, the fragrance of wine is lingering, and no one drinks it.Picking up the hairpin she dropped when she left in a hurry, the fragrance of bamboo leaves seemed to fall into my sleeve.In the dream, the long flute sounded in the distance one after another, refreshing my heart, lowering my head and solitary shadow into my eyes, I suddenly remembered that she had left.

Years have passed, the future is bright and everything goes well.Her skirt fluttered, and Qianqian's ten fingers strung together a fragmented dream.Flying pigeons travel thousands of miles, the moss and flowers in front of the steps are like rice, and the bamboo leaf forest is still there. The old man is here, waiting for her brocade clothes to return to her hometown.Old acquaintances, old people, old things, rivers and lakes, horses, travelers, look up the beautiful world, look back thousands of miles of flowers.

In summer, when the sun is in full bloom, the moonlight is like water when we are separated.The clear waves are gentle, the leaf shadows are swaying, the meaning of sadness is lingering, and the meaning of bitterness is allowed to sink.Read her a book, a flute, alone, traveled all over the mountains, rivers, seas, peaks, 15 years of light and sword, once walked the rivers and lakes.Seemingly precarious, Feng He, a violent tiger, is actually putting all his eggs in one basket and accumulating a lot.

Staying among the forest leaves, why don't I envy the sky beyond the sky? It's just that I don't have the courage to cut through the fog and see through the dawn like her.

When she left, the sound of the piano lingered around the beam, curling up.

"I miss home, I miss home, I miss you."

"Sorrow, separation, separation.

(End of this chapter)