A gorgeous memorial ceremony and a gray-blue finale.
Being missed, being forgotten, being hidden, going.
The day I met you was in the obscure rainy season, the sky was pale with broken clouds, and at the end was the desert split apart by rolling waves.
And your green clothes have wide sleeves, and the boundless silence is the broken rhythm wrapped in the sky guarding the border.
The dark desolate clouds were blown away by the wind, the vast wilderness was folded into lengthy memorials, and the prosperous music of the piano in the seasons turned into funeral songs amid the clang of swords.
Outside Changle Hall and under Weiyang Palace, your smile remains the same as before.