As long as my hair reaches my waist, marry me

Chapter 11
Apricot blossom spring rain south of the Yangtze River
The red sleeves of the painting hall are leaning against the Qing Dynasty, and the hair is full of hairpins.A few nights straight to the Jinluan Hall, where the Dongfeng soft flowers stop.The book ordered Xu Chuan's palace candles, and Xiangluo's first-cut court shirts.

The icy pan water in the Yugou is dragging blue, and Feiyan murmurs again.The heavy curtains are still cold, who can send gold letters and mud.In order to report Mr.'s return, the spring rain of apricot blossoms in the south of the Yangtze River.

——Yuan·Yu Collection "Wind into the Pine"

【Misty Rain Jiangnan】

In March in the world, the grass grows and the warbler flies, and the peanut trees are mixed.Misty rain is like poetry and dreams.Whose spring shirt is that, passing through the small town in the south of the Yangtze River.White clothes and white horses, graceful and sassy.

The purple swallows in front of the eaves are building their nests with mud in their mouths, and they fly like wings.The flowers outside the court are just about to bloom, and they are fragrant, as if a huge flower event is brewing.You floated past my eyes gently, like a gust of spring wind, passing through the west chamber and winding around the corridor, infinitely gentle and heartbreaking.On the west side of the painting hall, who is that with fluttering sleeves and shy eyes, and when he turns around, flowers fall one after another, full of affection.

【Sword Dance Flying Flowers】

18 years ago, I was also the boy chasing flowers.Horses stepping on flying swallows, clothes dyed with flower wine, drunk in the south of the Yangtze River.

At the ancient ferry in Yangzhou, I played the ensemble with the jade man playing the flute and the sword flute, and enjoyed the romance of the two bright moons drunk.By the Ershisi Bridge, the flute is like falling flowers, melodious and low-pitched, wandering around in the ancient city every night, causing many women in the boudoir to toss and turn, sleepless and worried.

In the Meixiang Building in Jinling, I spent so much tenderness with that amorous beauty.Scrolls and poetry swords, on the banks of the Qinhuai River, the red paper written with Tibetan acrobatics, like lantern riddles on the night of the March and Five Years, hangs all over the Zhulou painting boats of others, and it took a lot of thought.

On the banks of West Lake in Hangzhou, boats are released, and poems are written about the romance of flowers blooming on Moshang.The mist is vast, and the spring water is far away.Who is playing the clapper and singing, the full load of poetry and wine, outside the pavilion in the center of the lake with endless green lotus leaves, startled how many gulls and herons, and drunk how many plum blossoms.

You said that we want to sing on the moon, write plum blossoms in poems, and write love and love into fairy tales about love and love.

【Acacia as evidence】

The misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River is like a painting with splashed ink.Whose cardamom, whose reeds, I rode across the Jiangnan where you are.

In the beautiful place of Zhuxi, people still look forward to the beaded curtain on the roll; at the Taohua Ferry, the moonlit Zhulou is still faint and fragrant; under the Xiling Bridge, there are still singing.The wind blows Perrin, and the fragrance of a sword wafts.Your breath, your fragrance, thousands of years later, still lingering like spring flowers.

The cherries are red, and the plantains are green.I don't know how many springs and autumns have passed, but the shutter man said that the crabapple was still the same that day.

I searched for you from the scrolls, at the ferry of the past, your tenderness remains the same.Your flute is melodious, your cinnabar is deep and graceful, and your plum makeup is elegant.

I rode my horse with a sword, I didn't move, I stopped all my steps, just to fulfill the promise between you and me in the past and present: we know each other and depend on each other, inseparable and inseparable.

The sword dances and the flowers fly, and the moon falls flat on the sand.How many fleeting years have changed secretly.Red medicine under the bridge, every year you know who gave it.

Tonight, it is drizzling outside the window.I don't know who the plum blossoms under the pavilion are blooming flawlessly for?

This life is not changed, love for three generations

One flute and one horse, who is singing to appreciate the picturesque rivers and mountains, clouds and trees around the embankment and sand
One qin and one gauze, who is washing the gauze of the previous life, causing a lot of peach blossoms
Thousands of miles of flying sand, white horses lightly step on long pavilions and short pavilions are prosperous
Thousands of miles of haze, Daiwa meanders over small bridges and flowing water
You lower your eyebrows and wear gauze, your sleeves flutter, and you shine on the water

I believe that the horse is free, the horse's hooves clatter, and the wind is chic

The rosy clouds in the south of the Yangtze River, who flew onto the cheeks, scorched like peach blossoms in March
The moonlight in Chang'an is covered with whose clothes, as graceful as butterflies in love with flying flowers

The moon falls on the flat sand, and the world is home. After a song, how many lovesickness rhymes

Prince Wushuang, dancing with swords and flying flowers, playing flute and flute, bright moon and sky
At that moment, whose innocence is like Jian Jia written in a poem
On that day, whose eyebrows and eyes are picturesque, like peach blossoms that are full of songs
Peerless youth, not as good as you look at the city, sparse shadows and slanting, three stacks of plum blossoms

Gentle and flawless, you are Jianjia from the previous life, ethereal and ethereal, dyed with haze
The plank road in Chang'an, the red sleeves full of buildings, whose white clothes and white horses have traveled the world

The misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, the people in the ancient town, whose mountains and rivers are beautiful, such as the beginning of the bud
The cloud was very low that day, I took it into my kit and brewed it as tea in my previous life

The water was very warm that day, and the cloud gauze washed by you was woven into the flowers of this life

I love you as quiet as a peach blossom, blooming in the prosperous age of three thousand soft red
You say that I am romantic, I want to reward your burning youth in this life

Draw a picture of the south of the Yangtze River, smoke willows and draw bridges, wind curtains and emerald curtains, the scenery is picturesque
Play a song of Chang'an, the nine heavens are closed, singing and blowing dark news, prosperous and prosperous
Water sleeves, peach blossoms, three to five full moons, who cares about every night
The white horse, the youth, the love of this life, and who is written under the red letter?
Reunion, reunion, I want to go to the end of the world with you, and see the five lakes, the moon and the four seas as my home
densely packed, I want to see through the scenery with you, to see the long flowing water and the continuous blooming of flowers
Regardless of glory or wealth

A thousand years of fame is nothing more than a cup of tea
How can I beat your brows as picturesque, flawless

Love you for three lifetimes peach blossoms, make me worry about you all my life

The water in the spring river is warm, the flowers are beautiful and the moon is full, I am greedy for your whispers in your ears, soft words of love

Prosperous Chang'an, green tiles and flying scorpions, who drunk your hibiscus water, smooth skin

The fame and fame of a lifetime are nothing more than three feet of dust and sand, and in a blink of an eye they become old sayings of fishermen and woodcutters
I want to take you, a beautiful girl, on a boat to travel all over the world

From then on, the wind, the flowers, the snow and the moon, reciting poems and admiring the clouds, never leaving and never giving up, the mountains and rivers are my home

Broken chapters are the wounds of spring
一
It seems that it is still a small window with a bright moon hanging obliquely in the west chamber.

The eyebrows and eyes in the mirror, the vicissitudes in the dream.

It's the peach blossoms in March, it's hard to hide the past, bright and beautiful?
It's the April day in the world, and it's still in the palm of your hand, warm?

At this moment, the sound of the piano is lingering, and the delicate hands are fragrant.

Who is pressing the little Qin Zheng,
The curtain is drawn by the westerly wind, and Xiang Xiangruan makes small orders, listening to Yingge,
Twisting among the flowers, ascending?
I saw that the light moon that filled the building was writing Chanjuan;

I saw, the girl in the boudoir, painted with cinnabar, the eyebrows;

I see the peach blossoms in March in the bronze mirror,

Petal by petal, stretching...

two

Spring goes and spring comes again, who leans on the small window to lightly draw the eyebrows?

The flowers outside the fence are still sleeping, the bright moon in the west chamber is peeping, and the corners of her eyes are charming.

The wind under the eaves, caressing, the corners of her lips are drunk.

Fill in a small order among the flowers to play her Yingge tactfully.

Under the small window, you painted your eyebrows.

The cinnabar I grinded is still in the aftertaste,

Your fascination, my drunkenness.The love and charm that I don't want to wake up in this life.

three

I saw the March wind blowing by.

The corners of your eyes are rippling drunk.

Who cut the crescent moon secretly,

Stained with intoxicating powder Daisy.

Those old purple swallows seem to remember,
Under the eaves last year, you wrote about love affairs.

They circle and murmur incessantly,
is it you?The powdered boy, the spy on the wall.

The shadows of flowers across the window are still swaying,

Is it your sachet, hiding the knot in your heart,

I entangled under the wind bamboo, eager to try.

four

I remember, at that time, the red candle was dying,

Genglou in the west building, the bright moon in front of the bed,
There are also two cats under the flower, cuddling each other to keep warm.

I remember

I heard the wind outside the house, tightened my thoughts,

is issued from the bottom of the throat, moaning, blurring,
Low, but has an indescribable texture.

I feel your enthusiasm, like an undercurrent, turbulent.

Sometimes they lie dormant, and sometimes they hover and rise.

the wind outside the door,
The moon shadow in front of the window, you are by my side,

Is a gentle vine,
In your palm, I am an indelible pet.

Life after life, I will haunt you,
mirrors you, surrounds you,
Erosion you, until two people, drunk.

melted.Turned into a lark, a wisp of smoke,
A surplus of spring water, never distinguishing between you and me.

If you don't come, how dare I grow old
The moon is sunny at the beginning of Bi, and the clouds are far away. Who is in charge of the spring.The forbidden garden is delicate and cold, and the embankment of the lake is tired and warm.The fragrance is dark, the lights are bright, long and lazy go hand in hand.Who knows, smoking is banned at night, and the city seems to be worried about wind and rain.

In the old days of Xuanhe, Lin'an crossed the south, and the scenery was still as usual.It is the most bitter to be able to compose words.There is no road in the south of the Yangtze River, and tonight in Yanzhou, who knows the suffering.Facing each other, remnant and sleepless, the village is full of social drums.

——Song·Liu Chenweng "Yongyule"

In the past, the blue lantern and the water lily reunited, shattering the moonlight all over the place, kneading it into tenderness, and following the way I came.There is a flute sound like a complaint, lowly lingering in the moonlit night.

With you, wait for me, wait for me to sing and dance a legend in the water.

Those spiritually cunning words also woke up again and again, and they shone brightly in my pure water-like eyes.And you know, that is the imprint carved by the previous life, this life is destined to reunite in the Tang wind and Song rain, carrying the ancient rhyme of the previous life, looking over the stacked mountains.When the willows pile up smoke, use my fluttering skirt to warm your way when you come.

At that time, when you wake up, the night is getting colder and the brocade quilt is still thin.Pity and hatred began to form a graceful and graceful style on the end of the pen, and the lips parted slightly, revealing all the secrets of the previous life.

With just one look, one gaze looking back, the medicinal power of that bowl of soup was removed one by one.At the bottom of the mind, I began to believe that there is a kind of fate, which is destined in the previous life; there is a you, and I am looking for it in this life.

I smiled like the wind, and looked softly at you holding your name in the palm of your hand, as if you were holding the charm of the past and present.My heart still hurts.

Even so, I still look at you with a smile, watching you fold the inexhaustible thoughts into poems, and those words flourish on a piece of paper.The moonlight is like practice, according to the thousands of mountains and rivers I miss, sighing repeatedly, I am old, and in a blink of an eye, the fleeting years have passed.

The door is closed at dusk, and there is no plan to stay in spring.The exclamation is derived in the sentence: life cannot stand waiting.Those solitary guards covered in frost make the window facing the moon haggard into the scenery in the painting. I no longer know when the moon will be full, and when will the moon be missing?

Jingye, waiting for you.A cup of light wine, a Que Qing Ci, and a song for palace merchants.The bright moon in Qin Dynasty and the wind in Han Dynasty all gathered at that moment, just waiting for you to come.

Waiting for you, I tie up my hair and add clothes, and I want to write lyrics with wine.I only remember you, and forget the mediocre rhythm.I wrote your name, tied it into a knot, and hung it in my heart.I'm afraid, I'm afraid, it will eventually become amber, and if we meet again in a thousand years, when I open it, it will still be the same.If you call, the moonlight is like water, and flowers bloom on the surface of the water, and there will be pain overflowing the lost water moon, and the name in the bottom of my heart is gradually clear.

Stretching out his hand, he said lovesickness on the strings of the pipa, but it stopped abruptly in the crisp sound of heaven and earth breaking.You don't know that the bright moon is as exquisite as you, and you don't know that those clear rhythms flowing on the fingertips and blurred words and sentences at the bottom of the brush are all tears from the bottom of my heart, bit by bit.How can it be possible to stay alone in the clear night, but toss and turn, so that lovesickness goes without a trace?
But, if you don't come, I dare not grow old.The decals on the mirror are yellow, and the youth that is getting thinner is being cast away by the streamer.Waiting all over the place, I can only cover my face with my sleeves and sigh secretly: What a shame!No way!
The broken bridge is lonely, the lonely pillow is jealous, and the eyes are full of decay and decline.

Plain sleeves are sparse, and a little ink is hard to roll.

Waiting to stare, the cold moon clears the wind and shadow.

For the open view, the sadness and nostalgia are far away, and the fallen leaves are red all over the shoulders.

Tears spread thousands of miles.

Sense of flocks with whirlwind, solitary words and songs.

Bow your head to the lotus pond, and see the evening fragrance in the mirror.

Thin brocade clothes, spring and vacancy.

The words are exhausted, and there are thousands of kinds, but who will send the flowers.

As if in the blink of an eye, the scene of early spring has disappeared in a long and short sentence.The memory at the end of spring comes in densely. There are butterflies flying together, and the shadow of a plum blossom cuts away some spring sorrows.The dew is thick and the flowers are thin, the days are short and the nights are long, and Ren yearns to grow wildly in the dark night.I want to hold my hand and raise a bright moon to light your way.Unexpectedly, the chaotic red flies by, and the thoughts fall with the flowers, turning into dust and fragrance, which is no longer the same.

The weather in April is full of gorgeous tenderness, which is the interlocking fingers in your words.It's like an extremely luxurious encounter in life, extremely enchanting, charming and I miss it night and night.Stretch out your hand to catch the moonlight outside the window, your hands are bright and clear, just like my mood of looking forward to your coming, transparent and clear.

You don't need to look at me, you can describe all the tenderness, just because there is such an indescribable similarity between each other's hearts.

I originally thought that in this world, fate is like a dream, even if you write a fragrant note, who can you send it to?However, with you, I can read the most delicate whispers in my heart in this vast soft red.I can't bear to tell the truth, I just send this lovesickness far away.Carve a word on my heart, alone with you!

The rain in May came as soon as it was said, muddying the longing road.The plot in the story begins to cross the virtual, looking forward to embracing each other.I know that staying together day and night will eventually make the flowers of a prosperous age fall into the most ordinary mud in the world.Lengxiang may penetrate the dust of the years and swirl one by one.Until each other can no longer grow old, and can embrace the lingering love of this life, and sleep peacefully.

Is it because I can't bear to let that spotless emotion linger in the world and get tacky; or is the luxury in that emotion unable to be fulfilled in the world?Or, it's just that you walked too fast, and the thorns beside the road made me bruised and bruised in the strangeness, and I couldn't keep up with your forward steps.Hastily, too hastily.Looking back, you can see that I looked through the autumn water, just looking for your way to come and go.

Have you gone, or have you not arrived?In the darker night, I thought to myself.My heart is aching.The prosperity of the day is gone in a pain, as if it has never been there before.Only this desolate water-like night, water-like thoughts, and water-like endless dark wounds are left.

(End of this chapter)