His red clothes are like blood, and he is like a river of red leaves in the world of death.
He is affectionate, thoughtful, loving and nostalgic
He is unruly and unruly, like fire swaying in the wind
Her clothes are as white as snow, like a clear lotus in front of the Buddha's throne
She has no sadness, no joy, no desire, no obsession, no ignorance
She is as clear as the moon and as pure as jade, spotless
Three glasses of wine in the world of mortals, a pot of tea in the Qianqiu hegemony
Who will remember whose face?