Dreams of the floating world, mourning for a life, sighing at the flowers in the mirror and the moon in the water, leaving behind the vicissitudes of life
The lotuses in the south of the Yangtze River, the rain in Luoyang, the broken strings of hatred are hard to renew, and the hot blood has gone cold.
On the bank of willows, the beautiful scenery remains, listening to the whisper of pipa, the west wind suddenly rises
Loneliness stained with red makeup
The light is fleeting and the mood is gone
Riding horses in the Central Plains, dust and sand are flying
Hearing the morning bell at dusk, the green hair is covered with snow
The only words that will last forever are desolate