That year, he survived because stolen from a tomb in Changsha were moving out of the peerless treasure, became five, nine gates.
That year, they met teahouse, a refined, gentle facial features; a handsome, upright posture.
That year, the Ninth matchmaker, he, as the first of nine, only sent a gift, not to attend the wedding.
That year, he lit a light day for her light, pass a story, but still care deeply about him.
That year, smoke everywhere, to lead the troops set off the night before, he invited him to drink. Drop glasses, candles extinguished. Even if each are burdened with secular ethics, but only wish this night the lifetime care.
การแปล กรุณารอสักครู่..
