After being drunk, I don't know that the sky is in the water, and the boat is full of clear dreams that overwhelm the stars.
It is the frost in May that withers the green of summer, in the long flowing water day after day. It is the chaos of war in August, in the wind and frost sword of loyalty. It is the ghosts and ghosts of September, in the vast sea of Wushan where the dead trees are springing up. It is the loess and white bones of October, with the remaining flowers of a cold winter falling on the moon.