The vicissitudes of life have washed away all the beauty, and the face is as old as green.
After a thousand years of dreaming, when I wake up, the snow is still young, and my little fool turns into tears.
Time reincarnates, forgetting yesterday, dyeing the stars red.
Asking each other from afar, when did those thousands of dawns disturb the orange and begonia trees?
PS: It's a big pit for thousands of years. There is no guarantee that the pit will not be abandoned. Please be careful when entering the pit.