I rode through the ancient roads in the wilderness outside the city. A white horse, a short sword, and a green bamboo-like cloth.
Behind him is the endless wilderness, and the endless sunset and glow. A hurried visitor carrying a suitcase passed me on horseback. The wind blew off the man's felt hat: It was him!
He calmly bent down to pick up the felt hat, without dusting it off, put it on, lowered it, and passed me by again. My eyes followed him, his long shadow, and the hem of his clothes disappearing into the sunset. My heart ached.
Are we finally on the same road as strangers? Are we finally no longer acquainted with each other, Chongguang?
In November, it rains, and Pingqiu kills Yu Jiang. The Yellow River burst its banks for the second time.
