Who is dressing up in the bronze mirror, with clear willow-leaf eyebrows, phoenix eyes and red lips.
In the deep mountains and deep valleys, the silk and bamboo are bleak. Who is dressed in white and has three thousand blue hairs.
Misty rain, melancholy, no one to talk to.
Drinking wine alone makes me sad.
Where do the flowers fall gently with the wind?
Who is it that makes the ground full of fragrance?