For years, I watched the moon wax and wane. For years, I watched pear blossoms carpet the ground and snow fill the sky. Yet I can no longer see the mist rising as the sudden rain over Jiangning lets up. All I see is the torrential downpour of the north. Cui Yangjin, you made me a fake Jiangning, with the old bridge, spring waters, emerald bamboo, and blossoms from my memories, and a pavilion on the lake just like the one I remember. But the spring waters, old bridge, bamboo, and blossoms lack the shimmer of my memories, and the pavilion on the lake is missing the chill of the tide that should be there. Time stretches on like distant mountains, and no matter how many times I look, I cannot see its end. It leaves me as helpless as someone drowning.
Chen Liang
Your name, Liang Chen, is the reverse of
I really like little angel