Many years later, when I imitated my teacher and sang with my hair spread out on the banks of the Miluo River in the cold wind, I felt desolate.
What a tragedy, autumn is the qi. It is desolate, and the grass and trees are falling and decaying.
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When a person can't find the home of his heart, what's the point of everything outside him? Even if it is as precious as life, it is not a pity.
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I know he has something in mind. For example, his beloved Chu. Or was he the one who exiled him?
The latter possibility makes my heart ache.