The nine-part cold palace has red plum blossoms reflecting the snow; red walls and green tiles, and exquisite pavilion sections; clouds and mountains haze, looming like an illusion; glazed phantom tomb, full of moonlight plum blossoms.
The vast world is full of white clouds and gray dogs; how many times in life have love, hate, and sorrow played out? Where should we look in this life filled with obstacles? Death is like a fog and a dream
Where should the river flow? Who is it in the vast world, clinging to the evil and evil sharp blade, cutting off thousands of emotions and destroying countless causes and conditions? Who is it,
Playing the delicate and elegant guqin, playing out the panic and trembling resentment? Love, hate, affection, sorrow, everything, how should we decide?
Silent as the spring tide, as vast as the summer clouds, as cold as the autumn rain, as cold as the winter frost, they use their tossing and turning life to depict the picture of life, and use their mottled life to tell the story of their lives.
Singing the joy of fate...