The painting is dyed green and the fragrance of ink is still there. I take a scroll from the desk and slowly unfold it. . .
A touch of beauty, a vow to live and die together, a chant among the nine springs in the blue sky...
Forgetting to know the past with a scoop of water from the river, I asked you how often you have explored my concubine's heart.
All this is solidified in the storyteller's paragraph under the willow tree.
Ice muscles and jade bones, full of secret fragrance, where can I find them when I look across the horizon?
After that, a faint greenness and a vague sadness penetrated into my bones. . .
Do you still remember the love of three lifetimes? Who left traces of tears on the ancient scrolls that have been sealed for thousands of years?