A crescent moon hangs especially on the branches. In front of the moonlight flowers, she has been missing her for ten years. Every time she returns to the depths of her dream, who makes her pillowcloth wet with tears?
A roll of purple silk is as misty as mist, and she holds on to the sword for ten years. Her hands are filled with blood every time, who makes her so crazy?
The dream has faded, and the love has ended. After ten years, who can comfort her cold-heartedness?
Is she guarding or he is suffering? Hand in hand, she will live a happy and prosperous life with whomever.