Fusang, leaning on the railing, falling snow.
Baisu, flowing scene, empty mountain.
A love-hate relationship that lasts for thousands of years.
Amnesia, reincarnation.
What is missed and forgotten has become an unforgettable pain.
I only remember the faint voice whispering something.
The fusangs are withered and the white sultanas are burning, and the whole world will be burned to keep warm.
When I lean on the railing and watch the scenery drunk, I drink in the empty mountain and fall into the snow tower.