The poisonous fog of Mang Mountain has not dispersed for thousands of years.
Holy witchcraft is the foundation of one's life. How have I ever bowed to it?
I just lament that the youthful romance ruined the glory of my life.
The world is a fantasy dream, bloody and bloody, what is right and what is wrong, I can no longer see the way back, and this corner is just a confused dream from the past.
Gratitudes and grudges are entangled, rivers and lakes are fighting, who is whose salvation in this life.
In the Central Plains of Southern Xinjiang, good and evil are also divided. If the relationship is shallow, why should the love be deep? If I can't be stable for the rest of my life, why drag me to the end of the world.