The land is lush and lush. But after the prosperity, what is left on the ground is still desolate? There is only that warm hand in the years, and what I hold is the helpless desolation of these years? Years pass like water, time flies, walking alone among the clouds, endless reincarnations, thousands of shadows gather, floating life is not yet young, the past is like smoke, the years drift away, blowing away a love, and it has been dull for thousands of years.
Time flies by, like quicksand between your fingers, and you can't hold it firmly, leaving only the desolation in your heart. Time flies by, leaving behind traces of vicissitudes of life, allowing us to look for that long-lost touch in our memories. The years have passed, time flies, and the years are frivolous. The once youthful years have now turned into a deep look. Time is like a carving knife, carving our youth into mottled pictures.
Time has told endless dreams of beauty; in the world, the vast sea has turned into a mulberry field. Time is cool, a person, a book, a cup of tea, and a curtain of dreams. When the cool breeze blows the pages of the book, the distant past has also been soaked by the tide of time and washed away, pure and clear.
Concept: fantasy romance