I tilted my head in the white snow and recalled the memories of my youth, those first surprises and fresh admiration, those glorious spring sun and graceful autumn moon, when the gentle wind blew my red dress, shining brightly in the eyes of the young man in the deep forest. There will never be such a spring breeze again, carefreely lifting up the canopy, blowing the brocade clothes, and sending the exquisite carriage into the high gate. The last impression that Shangping left on me was of soldiers who died in a strange place, of ruins in danger, of an isolated city and a small room, with bloody corpses. The dense blood that filled the sky and the ground lingered in the air, and the deep hatred that penetrated the heart and the shame of destroying the country and losing the family were firmly engraved in the bones and blood. This is the end of the world...
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