The demise of the Ming Dynasty has been a long time coming. I read some historical materials about that time, and I was always worried about it, and I couldn't come back to my senses for a long time. Of course, history has become the past. Reading it carefully is really touching. I always believe that even if the rice paper of life is wetted by wind and rain, it can no longer be turned into a painting, but at least it can still be turned into a poem. So I wrote this to comfort myself.
