After all the prosperity, there is still room for regret, and the passage of time is like water urging frost on the temples. The pace of time passes by the river, leaving behind fleeting shadows. The bright flowers sway in the wind, and the lights of memory are looming. The old heart waved a ray of thick ink to embellish yesterday's sunset. Walk quietly for a while, count the prosperous seasons, experience the sadness of fallen leaves in the wind, and look down on the mist of youth.
Who will enter Jiang's heart?