The willow silk threads are soft. The wisps of smoke weave into sorrow. Begonias have not yet rained, pear blossoms have snowed first, and half of the spring is gone. Now it is difficult to recall the past, and return to dreams around the Qin Tower. Acacia is only on the lilac branches and the cardamom tips.
It doesn't matter whether it is original or a fan. To me, it is just a story, and the starting point of the story is this poem.
Conception: