There is a swing in the wall, a road outside the wall, people walking outside the wall, and a beautiful woman smiling inside the wall. The laughter gradually becomes quieter and quieter, but the sentimental one is annoyed by the ruthlessness.
Listen to the strings break, cut off those three thousand obsessions. The falling flowers are obliterated, and the wind is obliterated. If the flower is pity, it falls on whose fingertips.