The world is poor and people are evil. When the rain comes at dusk, flowers tend to fall. The morning wind dries, leaving traces of tears. When I want to write down my thoughts, I talk alone in Xilan. Difficult, difficult, difficult! People are different, today is not yesterday, and the sick soul is always like a rope on a swing. The sound of the horn is cold and the night is dark. Afraid of being asked, I swallow my tears and pretend to be happy. Hide it, hide it, hide it! ---Tang Wan's "The Hairpin-headed Phoenix? The world is weak"
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