The music flows in the young world, don't look at the red box and the foreign land. Who do you honor that old tea, the smoke blurs your tears; who does that zither music play for, the sky is high and the mountains are far away; the snow that night is just a reminiscence of the past; pay homage to Chen Sanyuan, the prosperous times in troubled times, the green ant wine, the paulownia harp, the flowers scattered in the hands of the small residence, the ancients, see you, goodbye, never see you again.