He is waiting for an immortal blue lamp.
He was looking for a shadow in a distant dream.
He is looking for a fairyland without dust.
He was smiling, smiling at the lonely and lonely Tian Ye.
She was crying, crying with a tassel trailing from the blue bird filling the sea.
She is singing, singing a dirge of wandering.
People, people, people, except for people, no one can make up a story. This foggy story, this story of love and hate, this story of tears and joy, is so long.
People, people, people, what I want to talk about is only people. They may be a little naive. After peeling off the silk and cocoons, they turn out to be so terrible. Faith and admiration, love and envy, jealousy and jealousy, turn out to be so different.