-Preface
In the years, there are not only trivial things such as daily necessities, but also poems and paintings in the distance.
In Ran Ran, as time goes by, I occasionally open the yellowed diary of the years, as if I saw the fallen flowers falling into the notes again, and time is as good as ever. Meet with memory, hold hands with beauty, miss as before, keep the warmth like tea, with lingering fragrance.
If you ask who holds the wind and frost between heaven and earth? Clouds blow into snow, and human products become tea. A poetic heart, making tea and singing the wind, has the taste of happiness.
With dusk and snow coming, how about a glass of wine? Ordinary days are fading away. There is a touch of red in the tea beside the building and the quiet stove, missing and making tea. The days are sunny and round, and the joys and sorrows are all soaked in a pot of tea fragrance, waiting for the temperature of missing, just for the fragrance to float a pot of memories and get their hands on the eyebrows.
A tea heart is pure and flawless, meets fate, is drunk by tea, and feels at first sight. If I am the one who makes tea and you are the one who drinks tea, the wind and rain outside the door are the years. Let fate live in a pot of tea, and let thoughts slowly condense and ferment. Time flies, and you and I are at peace.
Time gave snow a surprise, but it was like a dream. If you have the heart, flowers bloom and fall. Flowers are amazing for time, and they are also the ultimate, engraved with the beauty of life. Falling flowers become notes, quietly placed in a corner of the years, the faint fragrance remains.
When you smile, Bodhi meditates. Clouds and waters are Zen, and a lotus flower blooms between the eyebrows. A wisp of breeze blows, and the tea smells faint. ...
As soon as I cut my sleeves and wear a thousand clouds, I am willing to cross the world of mortals and cleanse my mind, just for a beautiful world and a gentle dream, and imprison me for a lifetime. I have practiced for thousands of years all my life, and I love flying over mountains and rivers, lingering in the world, and meeting with Jin Fenglu, Bodhi leaves and Snow Lotus between my eyebrows.
Ice condenses into snow: a woman who likes tea. Fingertips lightly dyed with tea fragrance are freehand brushwork. A dust-free tea heart cooks the joy of years. Tea is like this, and the words are fragrant. If there is fate, meeting is poetry.