Fish swim in the sea, birds return to the sky, and there are many storms in the rivers and lakes.
Who is lingering at the bottom of the flower, looking back in the snow and brushing his sleeves, with the sun and moon turning on the fingertips of the withered grass on the road? Who rides horses across the glacier, sells wine and indulges in wild affairs at dusk, and pursues the flying stars in the sky and earth with swords and stars? Exploring life and death, only the difficulty of love, the world is hot and cold, and the heroes will be strong in the end!
Deep in the forest, the flower tombs are silent, the east wind blows thousands of miles away, and the fragrant soul remains as before.
Where the sword is buried in the wasteland, the old tombstone has not been seen for ten years.
Who am I without this name? Who am I without this body? There are many passers-by in the rivers and lakes, and the passers-by are all you and me. It is difficult to repay the pleasure of life, but the world must sing!
