The jianjia is green and the white dew is frost. The so-called beauty is on the water side. If you wander and follow it, the road will be long and blocked. If you follow it, you will wander in the middle of the water.
The jianjia is desolate, and the white dew is still lingering. The so-called beauty is on the water. If you follow it wanderingly, the road will be blocked and you will advance. Follow it on a wandering trip,
The jianjia is collected, and the white dew has not stopped. The so-called beauty is in the river of water. If you follow it, you will find the road blocked and to the right. If you follow it, you will wander in the water.
The man playing the piano, with black hair and a green shirt, is sitting in a pavilion without railings on the second floor.
The person reciting the poem is also a man with black hair and blue shirt, holding a sword of pure snow, flying up and down in the bamboo forest. The swordsmanship is like ten thousand swords firing sharply, leaving nowhere to escape, like a cold star passing through without losing dazzling magnificence, or like a dragon flying into the sky, elegant and majestic.
For such a poem to be recited by a sword dancer and matched with the sound of a harp player, not only is it not strange, but it seems to be filled with a thousand-year love and hatred and eternal infatuation.
It's love! It's hate! It's crazy! It's sorrow!
Intention: I just want to fill the hole