At that time, the young people in the south of the Yangtze River had not yet stepped into the beacon smoke.
Pour a cup alone and drink among the flowers all night long
That year when the beacon smoke stood on horseback, I looked back at Qingxiyuan
The sound of the jade flute and the cold moon blowing on the mountains beside the cold snow ridge
Reminiscing about youth while drunk
Half of the snow in Guanshan and half of the moon in the south of the Yangtze River
－－－－－A Thousand Songs Are Young Like a Purple Kite