Woman: Outside the window, the wind is blowing and the rain is slanting. I sat alone in a corner, let my heart bloom a purple flower and float quietly on the river of time.
Man: The wind in the wall is light and the moon is soft. I paced Lanting, holding a bottle in my hand and praying to the sky affectionately. A magpie bridge crossed me across the vast sea of stars.
Woman: Holding a book of poetry, I looked for you in the ancient rhyme of Tang poetry and Song poetry. You approached me step by step, watching my purple skirt flying in the wind, shaking off the acacia everywhere.
Man: Fly a fine horse and take you in the sanctity of Qian Shan's ice and snow. Hold your delicate hand in my palm, let the warmth slowly blend into the tacit understanding, without floating vows.
Woman: Just like this, standing on the shore separated by a sea, looking at each other silently and thinking about the Millennium.
Man: Just like this, standing on the pavilion with moonlight like water, walking north with a box, thinking of feathers like a rainbow.
Female: I can't get ashore in the turbulent river, so I'm speechless;
M: In the monsoon, I am speechless and full of acacia. ......
Woman: Tonight, listening to the sound of the rain hitting the banana, I am homesick and can't get rid of your warmth like water. Only by writing with poetic eyes can I taste you in my pen.
Man: Tomorrow morning, I am ecstatic to see the rosy clouds in the morning. This is the dream reunion that I miss day and night? Reproduce the Millennium eternity? Life, back to the green morning.
W: Under the orange light, I spread my long hair and looked at the mirror. Who is Byakki Smoker worried about? You said you like the scenery with long hair fluttering in the wind. So, I keep my long hair for you, let my hair comb out beautiful poems and recite them on your lips.
M: I believe that fate is predestined. The peach blossom in the west window is drunk for you in the thousands of years of lonely waiting, just waiting for you to smile, blocking all your worries and letting the weak poem grow green wings in the reverie of spring.
Female: in the world of mortals, you are still blue, covered by moonlight, smiling shallowly;
M: In those years, I had a soft spot, embracing plum blossoms and singing softly on the piano.
Gay: So, all the stories have become a beautiful chronicle of tying ropes. We, sitting in the fragrance of roses, twist acacia into a red rope tonight.
Woman: I'll tie up my long hair and wait for you!
Man: Oh, you must have heard the magpie flapping its wings and flying!