The falling snow and thin cherry blossoms, faint traces of dancing in the wind, shine in the cold night, shining like stars. When it drifts away, the sword marks are hard to leave; where it disappears, the cold blade screams sadly. Where the memory fades, it is hard to return the wish to the sky. The dancing wind is like the old face, and the tears have dried up for thousands of nights. In the dusk and evening, the cherry blossoms are faded, ghosts and gods sigh, and the year is passing by. Several lives of melancholy, tears, and chaos. Only when the lingering cherry blossoms cry blood, the blue shirt and feather fabric disappears