Amid a rain of falling blossoms in Yangzhou, he was left all alone. Drifting through Jiangnan that year, he became known to the world as the "prince who died young."
She bore the lowest status in the Northern Dynasty, yet was the only daughter of the immensely wealthy Xie family of the capital.
That night, during the Lantern Festival, you held the Kunlun slave doll, and your fleeting smile warmed my pale childhood for real.
In the watery world of rumor and infamy, the wicked poison woman became the only place where he could find peace.
The jade pot spun, and the bamboo horse gathered dust.
One would rather bury everything, including love. The other was willing to sacrifice everything, even life itself.
Aman, do you love me more, or hate me more?
They longed to take each other's hands and grow old together, never to part, yet that simple wish remained forever out of reach. Xie Aman, what good was wealth enough to rival a nation?
Since Seventh Brother left, why did he have to appear again?
He stood apart, his clothes billowing, his eyes like stars in the night.
Just as when they first met, he was like the moonlight tonight, indifferent and distant.
And yet he seemed to stand on a faraway, nameless shore, one that she, Xie Aman, could never reach.
Splendor passed, flowers bloomed everywhere, and years of youth dissolved like smoke.
The moon still shines, bones lie buried, and once a startling figure came to cast its reflection.
May we, in the next life, never betray one another's love.
