The tower is lost in the fog, the moon is lost in the river, and the peach garden is nowhere to be found.
The plum blossoms are sent to the post, and the rulers are passed down from fish to fish. There are countless hates built into it.
Looking at each other across the bridge, we seem to be thousands of feet apart.
In the prosperous Chang'an, in the prosperous world of mortals, among the charming colors, only those pair of clear glass eyes make me unforgettable...