We meet at the autumnal equinox, and you come and go, but your efforts bloom like haze in vain. The deep feelings are scattered, and the credit is in the eyes of the magpie.
I have been asking about the three journeys to the underworld, who can guide me and guide my confusion? The past is far away, the oath is atomized, and the fate is the sand between fingers.
At the end of the world, where I look back, the demonic red phantom accompanies the slave family. Let the strings stir the loneliness and play the pipa.
Thinking of paying it all for the thousand years of struggle, I sigh and sigh. It's hard to see you in the end, you are like a green leaf, and I am like a heartbroken flower.
I don't know what the past life was like, but I can't escape the fate of this life.
Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!
The flowers have bloomed three times but no leaves have been seen. The leaves have returned to the Forgotten River and there are no flowers anymore.
Stop! Stop! Stop!
Just complain, only you will know when you smell the fragrance
I am Manzhu and you are Shahua
God said that the plain white should be washed away and the red flowers on the other side should be washed away
Forget everything in the past, no worries from now on
You and I are as persistent as each other, keeping our oaths without anyone else
Even if there is no guarantee for the next life,
I am still Manzhu, and you are still Shahua?
[This paragraph is not original]
Intention: