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The aura is misty, the clouds fluttering, the bamboo forest encircled by the clear river—Song Xufu "Stepping on the Grass Path, Plain Scene Fades"
A group of people slowly walked through the forest, and the little monk holding a little turtle looked around the environment, with a poem floating in his mind.
Qin Yu was never an artistic person; if you asked her to use other descriptions, she couldn't. She just remembered a lot of poems and casually picked one.
However, Jiaojiao suddenly became interested and spontaneously recited a passage.
The fog seemed to turn green, becoming wind, becoming rain, landing in her palm. With one glance, the world turned into mountains and seas.
The path, with bluestones seemingly kissed by time, leaving colorful and crisscrossed kiss marks on one another.
The bamboo forest, solitary nobleman, collective pathways, green under the tip branches, azure above the drooping leaves.
