The picturesque landscape stained with blood is no match for a little cinnabar between your brows. The golden war and the iron horse crushed the fireworks of this prosperous age. The blue blood stains the peach blossoms, and I will burst into tears when I don't see you again. War horses neighed in the mountains and rivers, and the wind blew across the sky and earth. Climb the nine-story pagoda and see the vastness of the world with you only...
(This is a story about change through a song of the same name. The characters in the song moved me so much that I wanted to compose a love movement for them... I hope to get everyone's support!)