The heat wave of midsummer is steaming in the heavy rain, and the distant fragrance of lotus flowers is mixed with the noisy chirping of cicadas. The horse's hooves flew up and picked up the remaining flowers on the ground, and the skirts were inadvertently stained with the fireworks of the world.
The wooden door creaked, and there were still several glances and worries; there were still several chaos and disputes in the bloody storm. Play a seven-string lovesickness song that no one can understand, and drink a pot of soul-stirring wine. You carry the long sword, and I hold the shengxiao. With the sword in hand, I will have no regrets in this life.
Gold and jade are quarreling, and the wall is in chaos. The spring scenery is late in Zhumen, and the moon shines through the cold window. Bamboo shadows reflect ink, and crows sing sadly. Xuanyi enters the night, and the plum blossoms are in the snow.
The green voice has stopped, the hair on the temples is like snow, and the past is carried by the wind; the shower has just stopped, and the words in my heart are ashes, which is worth recalling.
What is true and what is not, what is true is an illusion, if it is here or there, like mist or sleet. In the end, it is difficult to resist a paradox.
When the white lotus blooms for the first time, who will cover it with titanium white paint; when the lotus flowers are in full bloom, who will cover up the dawn red paint? Sprinkling flowers and leaves on the ground is a mess, but it is just self-pity, leaving only a cold place on the ground.
The love of children, the hatred of family and country, the ferocious barbarians, and the turmoil.
"Please give me a cup of tea while I sigh and caress this pear tree."
"There are no memories in this life."