Last night, the fallen flowers turned into graves, sighing, life is like a dream, how many dreams are drunk? The snow in the north is a prison, gold and gold are exchanged for Shura, calamity is born every step of the way, and calamity isfallen every year. Return or not? Return or not? Tumi's end has burned my whole body to glory; poured out my heartache and healed the vicissitudes of my life.