There are pear trees in the south, and the drunken immortal complains
He, wearing a black robe, can see through the warmth and coldness of the world.
She is stunning in white clothes and does not mess with the mist of the world.
The pear blossoms are flying, and the words become a prophecy.
Fifteen mourning strings, willing to reincarnate.
In the end, whoever sings alone, there are pear trees in the south, and the drunken lonely fairy complains.