The wind and snow in the middle of the mountain blew across the valley,
The song was played and the souls trembled together.
"On the north shore, Xiao Qin is resting, and the wind is blowing and dancing before the battle. The blood-stained place of the horse is leaping with spears, but there are only a few or two flutes. The autumn rain is vast in the sky."
Eighty thousand elites and eight hundred disabled. The setting sun is setting, and the Broken River is mourning.
The snow stained the ground red.
But in the end, there was no horse-hide corpse.
I can't even return home.
Intention: When a man is poor, his heart will never be poor, and when he is withered and prosperous, he will be angry with God!