The Stars Flicker Like Fans, Thousands of Lights Are Extinguished, and the Soul Is Buried in the Flowers of the Old Family.

Maybe it's the habit that fades away, maybe it's the promise that the promise is forgotten. However, I often make mysteries and do things that are both true and false, thinking that I can see through the worldly world. One wrong step, every wrong step. The peonies have fallen, and the dawn is full of wounds. If the prosperous and prosperous age has turned into smoke, I am willing to follow you when you leave.