Is it the echo of the autumn story, the dead branches spreading their buds, or is it the reflection of the light shining on the flowers near the water?
Did you help me get out of the abyss, or did I tire you into falling into the abyss?
The sound of the string is like complaining, it makes you drunk at first, then crazy,
Between breaking and standing, there is half a step of kindness and a half step of resentment.
Death and life are impermanent, one thought gathers and one thought disperses...
No matter what happened, the sound of oars and lights on the banks of Tongchuan River and the misty sunset on the top of Kunshan Mountain were all tolerated and forgotten...
Just like many years later, when I occasionally brought Nineteen back to Qi'an, I only remembered that you once said: "But if you know the joy of the piano, why bother to tune the strings..."