The fireworks of this prosperous age are crushed, and the gentle melancholy is like smoke and mist.
Under the coldness where the candlelight was still flickering all over the ground, there was a picture scroll in his heart, depicting her appearance.
There are people in the city who sing three hundred poems, saying that the moon is silent and heartless, and the words are like a murderous witch, but they fail to sing all the joys and sorrows, and they are infamy throughout the ages. In the end... They are ignorant.
Conception: