Wearing a black robe, he should have been able to show off to the world, but instead he became a trapped beast in the palace.
The cold snow that rustles southward dyes the green tiles and white walls in the mist of the flowing water on the small bridge, as if the thin threads and ink are mixed together to weave a dark-colored robe.
And the thin layer of southern snow on the painted bridge shines like stars, like broken jade spread in the bottom of the heart, melting into a handful of warm water in the chest, flowing along the blood vessels.
He was upstairs and downstairs, unable to see himself clearly, even though his heart was beating like death.