Li Qingzhao's lips are flushed.
Swing,
Get up and adjust your delicate hands.
Dew is thick and flowers are thin,
Sweat thin and clothes light.
When someone comes,
Socks, golden hair, slip away.
Ashamed to leave,
Looking back at the door,
But smell the plum.
Qingyu case
Ling Bo didn't cross the pond road, just watching and letting the dust settle. Who is the golden flower? Qiao Yue Garden, a bamboo building with locked windows, is only called Spring.
Ran Ran Yun Fei, at dusk, drew a new topic, heartbroken sentence. If you ask how much leisure do you have? Yichuan tobacco, city wind, plum yellow rain!
There are trees in the forest, but there are branches in the forest. I like you. I don't know.
Long hate, short hair, full of acacia, slow hair