"Damn!!!" Luo Qianqian jumped high, keeping more than a meter away from Bai Yizhu: "I was wondering who you reminded me of, Pale-faced Scholar, that effeminate wimp."
An effeminate wimp? Pale-faced Scholar? Bai Yizhu touched his chin thoughtfully. If he hadn't misunderstood, she must be talking about his brother?
"Bai Yizhu? Your brother's name is Bai Yixian? So, do your parents have someone named Hua Nian?" Luo Qianqian suddenly recalled a poem she'd written a few days ago, "The Beautiful Lady Yu."
The Beautiful Lady Yu's lute has fifty strings unwarranted, each string, each peg sings of the yearning for Hua Nian.
Zhuang Zhou dreams at dawn confused as a butterfly, longs for the Emperor's spring heart to trust unto the thrush.
The sea's bright moon weeps pearls, the blue fields' sunny jade emits smoke.
This love awaits remembrance, yet already I am lost in reverie.
