In the attic in late autumn, the silver moon shines high.
Vermilion glazed tiles, dancing silk yarn.
The flutes in the cabinet are like singing, and the beauties are like flowers.
I can see the beauty in the mist, but I can't see the tears falling.
The heart is like the sound of a flute, only filled with yellow sand.
At the beginning, Cheng promised to be free from the world,
But he couldn't escape half the city's smoke and sand.
Conception: