He is her happiness and never belongs to me.
My luck in this life is not enough to make you like me, just enough to meet you.
In the face of helpless life, I can only hide those sorrows with a smile.
Standing opposite you, deliberately meeting you, or passing by.
You can mop the floor with me when my hair is waist-length.
I'm telling you, that's my wife. I was scolded by her. I'm glad it has nothing to do with you.
Don't think that my rural cucurbits can't beat the concave-convex men in your city.