Ye Feng, just woke up. She twisted the twist of the waist, lightweight, close mountains, fields and villages. She gently held hostage an old-fashioned doors, lights in the swaying, lean figure You Ge Xuan in a transparent windows. White Zhijian, fine pens, quietly lying on the table. It is waiting for a hand, a hand that only the soul of all the imagination and memories of resurrection. Let it stand up, so weak and the powerless sorrow with it towards the autumn, will be the night Ying Liang, will fall dyed. Like moon hoisted allowed Liu, water is more pure than that.

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