The two realms of pure dust are separated by generations. The mountains are high and the sea is vast, and those who are not sincere cannot climb over it; the sky is far and the road is long, and those who are not sincere cannot reach the end.
A hundred years of pure love, thousands of years of love, the new tent is a warm pillow for the old. It's lingering, but one end of the wooden hairpin is engraved with the character of a young man; fluttering and scattered, it's hard to match the blood and tears of a girl born with chalcedony on a folding fan.
Intention: Living for yourself is just living, living for your lover is just traveling in the world.