In the old days, I brushed my clothes and picked the withered vines.
Wanrendao Mountain, you know, is only within your fingertips.
The lyre has no origin and no end.
Ten years of love, Yiyi has come back thousands of times.
In the snowy spring and autumn, as soon as the play comes out, the flowers in the morning will eventually turn into dusk.
Let's remember that the madness has been paid for, and the time has passed with a smile like black hair and snow.
Conception: