The green hills are still there, how many times has the sunset turned red?
In a small boat, Sima Yi was alone in the breeze on the eve of Red Cliff, rushing towards the altar. Dare I ask why?
The clear night is silent, who pities the cinnabar painting in the snow in Longzhong?
Love or not? Do you hate it? Dare I ask how many times you can forget your sorrow?
Cinnabar draws plum blossoms, gently turning down, and draws traces of blood and tears flowing in the heart.
Conception: