The sword and the rivers and lakes come to the world. Who is drunk with the beauty of the country? With a sword and a drink, I reach the end of the world, holding flowers and smiling at the green mountains.
Who is in the clouds, holding flowers and smiling, drunk in the world of mortals? Who is in the tower, withered leaves turning into butterflies, and their previous lives cut off? Who walks all over the snowflakes for whom, just for a piece of white hair? Who smiles for whom and performs a song of phoenix seeking phoenix?
That year in the south of the Yangtze River, we swam together with bluestone and green tiles, drums, harps and flutes.
In Chang'an that year, we walked through the buildings and buildings, singing in the morning and dancing at night.
That year in Loulan, riding horses on the grassland, flying with eagles, would you like to follow me?