Later, Yun Zhan read a collection of poems, and there was a sentence in it, "The rain stopped and it was cool, it was a dream eleven years ago."
He smiled to himself, carrying his sword and wine, and walked slowly along the long embankment of weeping willows.
In the spring, catkins are flying, and the sky is as white as the fog in the mirror.
But the woman in the fog had already gone away.
Conception: