Looking for the half of my body that I have never lost.
"The kind demon king..."
With the gentle sound of the flute, an inexplicable wave blows from the deep and undercurrent of Yachao Road.
The clouds are moving, the flowers are thin, and the benevolent wind is chanting to offer sacrifices to the harp.
The sea of weaving damasks hides its secrets, and the beauty of the feathers reveals its light.