During the Qingming Festival, some memories were lost on the stone slabs. A hundred steps in green clothes, the voices of all the people are gone. I feel like I am still sleeping in the night a thousand years ago, with dogs barking, distant bells, and misty rain. The scrolls are spread out, the figures are tasseled, and there are no tears for crying, no tears for pain. The oaths made loudly have long been swallowed up by the tide. There is only one stroke left, and there is no ink in the inkstone with a wry smile. The sound of mountain alliance has long been separated by mountains. In the next life, your paintings will not include me. I wanted to complete the painting but it was not completed, but you smiled in the previous life. But I dare not say anything and can't sigh. I lean on the railing and the rain is swaying at night. I would like to touch it but I dare not, but I am blocked by this time and space. I closed my eyes and thought you could feel it.