Murong Xinghan 358万字 666326人读过 连载
《congress grass》
Yuan Hu was poor when he was young and once worked as a servant carrying rent for others. Xie Zhenxi was traveling by boat. That night the wind was clear and the moon was bright. He heard the sound of passengers reciting poems on a boat on the river bank, which was quite sentimental. The five-character verse he recited was something he had never heard before, and he could not stop admiring it. He immediately sent someone to interrogate him in detail, and it turned out that it was Yuan himself who was reciting the historical poem he had written. Therefore, they wanted each other and were greatly appreciated.
The Duke was granted the title of Yingqiu, and after five generations, they were all buried in Zhou. A gentleman said: "Enjoy what you have been born from, and do not forget your roots. An ancient person said: The fox dies at the head of a hill. This is benevolence."
Zixia had just finished mourning and came to see me. I played the zither, but it didn't harmonize, and it didn't make any sound when I played it. He stood up and said, "I have not forgotten my grief. The ancient kings established the rites, and I dare not go beyond them."
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最新章节:雀跃的单腿狼(2025-03-16)
更新时间:2025-03-16
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