The wind returns to the small courtyard, turning green, and the willow eyes continue to spring. I leaned on the railing in silence for half a day, and the sound of the bamboo and the crescent moon still sounded like it did back then.
The music and songs have not yet dispersed, and the ice on the pond has just begun to melt. The candles are bright and fragrant, and the painting is deep in the dark hall. The clear frost and residual snow on the temples are hard to bear.
Conception: