The paper boat floats on the river of ancestors, and a few dew drops drop out the fragrance of the earth. On a slightly cold autumn night, lonely and hazy, the melancholy in my heart becomes more and more clear in the drunkenness, but the untouchable future, I don’t know when my thoughts gradually lengthened
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The astrologer walked on the unfamiliar winding stone path. The Hetura tribe behind him had long been blurred. The bright moon in the sky was pale and the dying autumn insects could not be heard. A childhood song came to his ears.
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The dim candlelight lengthened the figure, the late travelers walked in a hurry, the young lovers moistened their lips, and the expensive carriage creaked.
The forgotten path was peaceful and quiet, and the little beast lying on the roadside was covered with bruises. The smoke exhaled from the astrologer's mouth dispersed in the air, and was kneaded by the wind into a familiar face, which was then cut into pieces of sadness by the maple leaves.
The lights are still bright here, but there is always silence in the distance.
The autumn wind rustled, and the eyes were full of withered yellow. The old tree without annual rings only had branches left, but the filth beneath him was always fresh and dazzling.
The noisy golden plain is just a holy land outlined in a dream, but no matter how bright the moonlight is, it can't withstand the falling stars. The raging brown and yellow stains a season of longing, but no matter how familiar the scene is, it is as cold as frost.
The astrologer's steps were slow and irregular, sometimes stopping by the plane tree, sometimes walking into the flowers. The tea that had already cooled down was drank down, and the damp robe became heavier and more delicate.
The autumn chrysanthemums exude fragrance, and the antelopes crossing the grassland are pregnant with the breath of life.
Another carriage sped past behind him, kicking up countless dust and disturbing the couple walking. The servants beside the carriage followed suit, and the girl trapped in love stood still.
The melon farmer has fallen into a deep sleep like a dream, but the scent of fruit is still lingering in the air. There is no telling how many sweet dreams of yellow rice are stored in the money bag held tightly in the palm of his hand.
The night wind was extremely refreshing, and the smell of river water filled my nose. Countless mosquitoes and flies were hovering next to the lights, and discarded cigarette butts gave off little bits of red light.
The environment is so familiar that it can no longer be familiar, but we can only come and go in the dead of night. The reason is that it is hard to escape the stinging pain during the day.
The bumpy gravel road is spotless, the mulberry and elm bushes on both sides are as round as beads, countless weeping willows sway in the wind, and some wild flowers are dotted among the green grass.
The lone man fishing at night has long been put away, but no one cares about the weather-beaten low wooden chair. The empty wooden platform is unusually empty, and shallow waves are slowly beating on the sand bed.
The door of the newly built hunter's cabin was locked, the brand-new pavilion was put away, the dilapidated animal den was dark, and bursts of shouts could be heard.
An autumn rain swept over, and the lingering rain dominated all the scenes, cut off all thoughts, and blurred all figures.
As long as cotton wool and erratic, the feelings hidden in the heart are naturally delayed indefinitely; those of us hiding behind the neon lights are naturally separated from each other.
The world is dimly reversed, like the confusion in an old dream, which has been reduced to a bone by reality, or like looking up alone under a low wall, the stars above the head are shining brightly, but the outstretched hand is empty.
As the astrologer walked in the dark night sky after the rain, all the autumn mood shrank into a thin leaf. The gravel under his feet was rubbed and rattled, the mosquitoes and flies on his shoulders were sucking flesh and blood, and the quarreling lovers were standing by the river.
Continuously pulling, the dark clouds in the sky gradually dissipated.
The dry petals are scattered in the wind, and the forehead of the weeds is full of yellow spots. The mourning of autumn sees the moon in the evening, holding a few maple reds in the hand, and the eyes are full of sadness, but I want the peace of returning to my hometown.
Broken chrysanthemums cling to the water, the turbid river is still cold and fast, and the thoughts without fluff are stagnant on the wooden stool, leaving only a place of hesitation lingering in the heart.
The word "peace" has become the most hypocritical lie. Even if the lonely person is trapped in the extremely cold place all day long, even if he has hope, he will never be able to see the sun and the moon.
The astrologer stood on the edge of the wooden fence, silently gazing at the scene on the other side of the river. The young orcs who occasionally passed by him rolled up plumes of smoke.
What echoed in his heart was the nursery rhyme from thousands of years ago, but now he could no longer return to the habitat of all beasts. He still remembered back then, when he looked at the aspirational clouds on the other side and vowed to serve the tribe in the future and to protect the golden plain with his life.
But that innocence has disappeared, and the innocence of the past has all turned into fate.
The dark forest was so quiet that the astrologer turned his head to avoid it, but his heart suddenly contracted and tightened. Perhaps the countless dull nights were the most intimate, resting when the lights first came on and resting in the middle of the busy traffic.
The horse-drawn carriages that are getting farther and farther embellish the night sky, making lonely people forget their loneliness; although the roars of beasts one after another are noisy, they can suppress the sadness and even give rise to some hope for beauty.
There is still smoke curling from the astrologer's mouth, and the occasional red spots are like the silence of the years. The hustle and bustle of the traffic can't match the rapids of the ancestral river, and the moths clamoring wantonly are declaring their territory.
Thinking back to those days, he was clear and clear, holding the exam paper in his hand and chattering away, just to get a job in Wudun City. Most of his friends who grew up with him were confused, intoxicated and confused all the time, just wishing that time would stay in the city.
At this moment, however, he has never been confused. He always hopes that birds will spread their wings and fly high, and that there will be no more barriers in the world.
The last pot of ale was held in his hand, and he listened to the flow of the river with a sullen face and no expression. There was no sound around him, not to mention a wisp of smoke.
The faint darkness is belonging, the dazzling stars are playmates, the rolling filth is unwillingness, and only mourning is left in my hometown.
Thoughts turn to ashes and drift with the wind and rain, but the children's songs in my mind are still inseparable. The river surface dotted with red maples remains unchanged through the ages, and the chirping of insects echoes through the riverside.
The previous brush blended red, green, purple and blue, and sketched out the most authentic picture of life. The second brush washed away the lead dust, the windy and snowy night, and the cold world. The third brush hesitated and warmed up.
Elegance, the ink stains the paper black, and countless pavilions and pavilions surround the eyes.
A journey through the mountains and rivers clears the waves, and thousands of mountains and rivers describe the wasted time; the lonely string is empty and no one sighs, and a few fireworks stain the silk. The robe has absorbed the moisture of the wooden chair, the lights on the other side have been extinguished, and the black river is still impatient and annoying.
The mosquitoes and flies were full of flesh and blood. The astrologer turned and left, leaving a blood-red paper crane in place.
The troll astrologer Slan returned to his homeland across the ocean. Seven days later, he joined hands with the orc oracle Constance again after ten thousand years. Astrology and great prophecy were performed at the same time, and both were eventually called Boom.
The group's journey through the planes is bound to lead to disasters one after another.
However, Astrologer Si Lan did not dare to send such false news to Flowing Light City, the Land of Shadows, lest the tribe cause any trouble for no reason.
However, the oracle Constance asked the Candle Dragon's soul to immediately go to Flowing Light City to inform the opponent of the results of the great prophecy.
"I know, after I say hello to Constance, I'll come to the bathhouse when I have time, and I'll treat her to a free bath."
"Challenges are interesting. Only by constantly challenging yourself can you continue to become stronger and your life will become more and more exciting."
Afterwards, Rikka ordered the Candle Dragon Soul to protect Constance if she really left one day in the future. The Candle Dragon Soul nodded in agreement after hearing this, and then turned into a meteor and shot into the distance.