Ink, in the inkstone; water, in the lake.
A trace of ink on paper is the faint footprint of youthful years, and the ripples in the lake are quietly hidden in the dimples of a smile.
Clouds drift by, reeds sway in the wind. Carrying half a scroll of clear poetry, one slowly enters the mundane world.
Deep within the heart lies a glimpse of scenery where eyebrows exchange glances from beyond the horizon.
Water and ink blend naturally, washing away the dust of time, frozen in the Tang Dynasty winds, Song Dynasty rains, and Han Dynasty moons, retreating into the misty pavilions and smoky rains.
To be drunk for a lifetime, nothing compares to this realm!
Wearing a simple green robe, the elegant and unrestrained demeanor settles through the flow of years, seeking dreams deep within the Han moonlight.
With an ancient inkstone, gently grinding the clouds of the mortal world, painting the scrolls of those flamboyant years.
The wolf-hair brush moves, a faint softness drifts leisurely, the tender flavors seeping from the ink traces;
Those graceful and elegant words dance the Tang winds and Song rains into ethereal poetic lines.
Cupping a handful of lake water, the graceful and bright rhythms tie themselves into a pure white lotus of the heart.
Let a tune of "Shuidiao" gently flow and quietly spread, soaking through again and again on the delicate blank sheet as thin as cicada wings.
In the gurgling flow of light, with an exaggerated posture, pluck the heartstrings softly;
The chants lingering on the other shore cleverly cover the melancholy of the mundane world.
Drunk in the mundane world, nothing compares to this emotion!
As ink flowers fly, purple smoke rises on the wild path, gracefully dancing lightly in Zhuangzi's butterfly dream, unfolding the stranded memories on Xuan paper.
The pen travels through ancient and modern times, gracefully swaying like willows in Liu Yong's gentle breeze, trembling shadows falling onto the lake of whispers.
The shimmering water ripples, clear and elegant like a beautiful face with bright eyes and white teeth. How many people's gazes has it astonished?
The heart is as calm as water, lightly looking back, the fragmented reflections of time flowing with sentiments from a thousand years ago.
Imbued with clean, free-flowing water vapor, holding half a sheet of ink traces, the small boat of life journeys gracefully through the sea of books!
At the corner of the corridor, those deep and shallow imprints of the heart do not have the interwoven scenery of evening winds and morning moons, but they have the timeless eternity of water and ink.
One ink drop blooms into a lifetime of flowers, myriad scenes distant from the worldly gates in the desolation of tattered scraps of paper;
Engraved in the green mountains and clear waters, expressing pieces of deep affection, staining the tapestry of life.
One water, one whisper of the heart, circling a bashful smile, transforming the butterflies of past and present lives into the most beautiful emotions in books;
Where the fleeting beauty appears, those strands of black hair, pouring out a lifetime of tenderness, only for a Platonic-like sentiment!
Ink, in the text, softly murmuring, deeply affectionate without words.
Water, in the heart, lovingly glancing, warmly intoxicating without wine.
When grinding the ink, at the moment of lifting the brush and lowering the wrist, there is fragrance, a crystal-clear droplet gently falling into the heart lake.
That myth composed of water and ink, is already drunk in the aroma contained in that smile...
One word of ink, one patch of reeds, one curtain of fluttering, zzfhhxy369_Baidu Space, a portion of intricate details scattered in the heart;
One verse of clarity, one mark of the heart, one strand of black hair, a meeting across space and time;
You resemble ink, she is like water, in dreams and reality, together savoring the fragrance of books and getting drunk once more!
Postscript:
A thread of heart incense, thoughts resting peacefully, in the rhythm of the quiet night, reciting heartfelt words, gently twirling the ink marks;
Feeling your affection, kissing your words, smiling faintly, enjoying the happiness;
Listening to the midnight tune, ripples arise in the heart sea, soft fragrances swirling around the fingers, lightly drifting, dancing with the ink fragrance and autumn wind.
Meeting you, destined to gain some warmth, some tenderness;
Liking the feeling of being thought of and warmed by you;
Though near yet far, can you smell that hint of fragrance in the book scrolls?