The sword is covered with dust, and the water chestnut flowers are falling. The moonlight is shining brightly, darkening the real world, chasing the only hope left in the sky.
The story of Zisha is not the breathtaking beauty of a rainbow, nor the waiting of gentle mountains and rivers, but the gentleness after sunset and night, when everything returns to silence.
In the blink of an eye, the white hair turns white. How far is the end of the world, and how close is it? No longer lowering their heads and whispering, they only draw their swords and forget about the world. Thousand jade rongs, ten thousand golden willows, how sad are the peach blossoms in the spring breeze? The bustling smoke and dust can never compete with a touch of warmth in the vast grass.
At this time, we look at each other but don't hear each other, our movements are fleeting, and the moonlight is in a hurry, but I hope that the moonlight will shine on you.