Looking across the Changhuai River, the pass is vast and flat, the dust is dark, the frost and wind are strong, the sound is whispering, and the darkness is condensing. Recalling the events of those days, it was almost a matter of days, without human power, and the trees and strings and songs were still smelling fishy. Across the river, in Zhengxiang, the setting sun falls under the cattle and sheep, and the areas are scattered vertically and horizontally. Watching the famous king hunt at night, riding on fire and clearing the river, and the drums and drums whining mournfully, is shocking. Thinking about the arrow in the waist, the sword in the box, and the oar in the air, how could it be possible? Time is easy to lose, the heart is weak, the age is about to be zero, and the divine capital is dim. Thousands of feathers are far away, the beacon is quiet, and the troops are suspended. The crown and cover make people gallop around, as if they are in love. I heard that the old people from the Central Plains are always unforgettable, and they are green and bright. When passers-by hear this, they will be filled with anger and tears.
Limit 500 words