Plum blossoms remain as fragrant as ever while the Luo River runs cold, as a misty drizzle gently brushes the willow-lined banks. The swallows of old return early, carrying mud to build their nests and whispering of the warmth of spring.
The eastern breeze blows softly, turning the willows green, and peach blossoms glow brilliantly, reflecting smiling faces. Visitors weave through the scene like a bustling shuttle, laughter filling the air as a magnificent spectacle of prosperity unfolds.
When the first gentle rays of morning light cascade down, the plum grove resembles a sleeping beauty rousing from her slumber, gradually revealing her graceful posture. Those clusters of plum blossoms are like snow falling in the winter, yet they possess an exquisite charm that mere snow cannot match.
The white ones are as pure as snow and flawless, each petal seeming meticulously carved from suet jade, gleaming with a soft luster in the sunlight; the pink ones are like rosy clouds, so delicate and vibrant they appear like brilliant clouds from the horizon drifted onto the branches, radiating an irresistible allure.
The red plum blossoms, like burning flames, stand out with extraordinary strikingness amidst the expanse of white—passionate and unrestrained, as though eager to set the entire grove ablaze.
A man and a woman walk into the plum grove hand in hand, greeted by waves of refreshing fragrance. The scent is subtle and refined—not overpowering, yet deeply intoxicating. It flows lik…
Chapter 142