There are fifty strings of brocade strings for no reason, each string and column is reminiscent of the past.
Zhuang Sheng was fascinated by butterflies in his morning dream, and he looked forward to the emperor's spring heart filled with cuckoos.
The moon in the sea sheds tears, and the warm sun in Lantian produces smoke.
This feeling can be recalled later, but it was already at a loss.
Xuan Xiao... Xuan Xiao... This name is like a curse embedded in the bone marrow. Every time I recite it, it causes heartbreaking pain.
He lowered his head and saw his long hair clearly in the moonlight: the long hair was hanging down, but it was as pale as ashes.
——Those are the ashes of lovesickness.
Intention: