He sat under the candle, shaking out the startling glance from his sleeves, as if he could hear his heart trembling like jingle bells. At this moment, all he wanted to do was pluck the strings, and maybe the strings would break suddenly because someone could hear the melody he was playing.
He thought that they should ride their horses and whip together, maybe in the desert or the wasteland.
Maybe they will come to the battlefield together and fight in the north and south. Maybe they will come to the bamboo sea together and take a stroll.
All of these can shine in the joy of a prosperous age.
He said, let's go. He left with him.
No beaded crown, no golden necklace, just a life, hands intertwined. Even the fluttering clothes can withstand the cold wind and cold weather.
The phoenix and flute are playing together on horseback, and the poems and books are full of scrolls.
The end of the world can be called the end of the world.