The fragrant and cold golden cat was turned into a red wave, and I got up to comb my hair lazily. Ren Bao's dowry is covered with dust, and the sun is hanging on the curtain hook. I'm afraid of the pain of separation. There are so many things that I want to talk about but I still have to stop. Being new and thin is not due to illness and wine, nor is it a sad autumn.
Xiuxiu, if you go back this time and read "Yangguan" thousands of times, it will be difficult to stay. People who read Wuling are far away, and the smoke locks the Qin Tower. Only the running water in front of the building should miss me and stare at me all day long. From now on, there is a new sorrow in the place where I stare.
——"Reminiscences of Playing the Flute on the Phoenix Stage" by Li Qingzhao
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