Life is like flowers and scenery, and those who are in it are intoxicated and forget to leave; many years later we met again, looked at each other and smiled, and then went our separate ways. I have been here before, met you, and saw the clouds blooming in the vast sky, just like the landscape paintings in your pen and ink, rippling layer by layer on rice paper. The flowers fall to the ground, and after the dust settles, we forget each other.