Yutianrong lies on the big bed. There is a familiar smell on the bed. It belongs to someone. Her heart is a little melancholy. The taste is the same, but they are different. Exhale deeply, sit up and hold the wall to the window: so high!

hold the wall and walk out of the room to see the empty hall. No, it's not empty. There are some pictures on the walls of the hall

her fingertips are trembling. These paintings are all her works. Good ones, bad ones, all of them are framed and hung up. They are landscapes, gardens, lotuses, mandarin ducks and horses running wild That's all the...