The dream is too empty, so many past events have become empty:
It's too real, who can wipe the tears now?
Narration one:
The sound of the ruler being stroked was harsh, and the garden felt desolate in my heart.
A few paragraphs of what I heard from my predecessors were hidden in writing, and a few nights of dream-like fragments of ancient poems were half disabled, as if they were disabled.
In a nutshell: In the curtain of autumn, the writing is a bit like a staff; in the middle of the night, the remaining poems still exist after waking up from a dream.
Faintly forget, afraid of a sudden moment; make your eyes open, there is a person in the golden house next to your pillow.
Narration 2:
Or the love story of the city, or the burial battlefield of snow.
The strong man hates, the general sheds tears, the iron horse fights, shaking the mountains and rivers.
I stain Kunlun with my blood, and the bright moon of Kunlun shines on my heart.
Story three:
Si Shang's eyes are like: People are at odds with each other, hearts are at peace with each other, God please don't attack me.
One more second, one less time, wait for me to draw my heart.
In the warm season, the eyes are full of spring blossoms, flowing water, and peach blossoms, and the fragrance of people is not yet felt among the flowers;
Then come the sad autumn, when the grass and trees are withered and waiting for the buds to bloom, and the fallen leaves are stained like mud on the clothes.
The dust is covered with dust and the earth is covered with earth, burying the sorrow of the heart and burying the fallen flowers.