When everything is lost in the light clouds and sparse moon, even the history books leave only faint traces. Who still remembers who stood tall and beautiful in front of the White Horse Temple, who stared with a smile and charming eyes like silk threads, who sang a song of splendor and charming all over the world, and who played the fleeting time for three lifetimes. Remember, who is surrounded by wind and sand in front of his tomb, who abandons his time and leaves behind a hundred years of loneliness, who wears a cassock and turns a prayer wheel to feel your breath, who dominates the world and turns his hands to make clouds and rain, who breaks willows and laments that he cannot depend on his son...