Who plucked the dusty guqin, playing the music full of sadness and making the plum blossoms fall red? I came after hearing the sound, but walked alone by the river, letting the willow branches brush my shoulders.
It's late at night, and the palace walls are shrouded in fog that I can't see through; the moon is shining brightly, and what's reflected in my mind is the face you imagined.
The flowers are scattered, and the snow falls on the shoulders; the palace walls are deep, and the emperor is speechless; I have no intention of yearning for the setting sun to shine on the flat sand, and I can only talk about the fragrance of beauty to fade away the cold dreams.
The snow was still falling, but when I looked back suddenly, the sound of the piano had stopped.