PREVIEW
... s still not sober upon waking. I asked the maid who opened the curtains how the flowering apple trees were. She said they were the same as before. Does she not know? Does she not know? Their green leaves should be blooming, the red flowers withered away.” Under the tree, Fan Xian quietly recited, his voice gentle, unsure whether he spoke of people or things. This was the first time that the immortal poet Fan Xian had recited poetry since that night in the palace. [1]
Haitang calmly loo ...
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