Boil a pot of water from the mountains and pour out a song that has never been forgotten before; taste the Zen of clouds and water, and realize the blossoming and falling of flowers. The charm of the ancient poems expresses the beauty of love, and the remaining ink and ink have no regrets. I am busy listening to the rain falling on the lotus pond, and my soul is lingering in the agarwood, which has a long meaning. There is no guess in the two hearts, except for the dust of the floating world. In the quiet night, who is sending clear words in the kingdom of the Book of Songs?
Who is destined to meet by chance in the flowers?
The promise in the past life and the companionship in this life, what kind of story will be performed, what kind of martial arts world will be created, and what kind of Boya and Ziqi will they be?