The young man's ascension to the throne is the beginning of glory, or the harbinger of disaster... The turbulent dynasty, many ups and downs, many wanderings... He is tired of working step by step, doing nothing but bending for the sake of his country, even if he has a reputation for eternal life... He still has no intention of running a business, and is willing to be a puppet emperor, and look at the world of mortals with cold eyes from now on...
A miserable life experience, is it a symbol of power, or is it a play of desire... The fate given to others, how many legends, how many admirations... Is he surrendering to the arrangements of the world, living in a temple with no rights to Xuanyuan, regretting for a moment in the messy city... Or is he obsessed with it secretly, scanning millions of beauties with his indifferent eyes, unable to bear to look back on this world...
In the dream, he danced his sword under the moonlight, and the cold tea shadows covered the world; in the dream, he played the harp in front of flowers, and burned smoke and flicked his fingers to leave the country; in the dream, he chanted poems by the bridge, spread his fan and frowned to regain the country; in the dream, he painted outside the city, and the ink on his sleeves disappeared from the common people...
Acting out a flower blooming and failing, sighing about the ebb and flow, so what if you look at the flowers in the mirror and the moon in the sky, isn't it another beautiful scene in a good time...