In the early morning when everything is in ruins,
Qingru's return is as desolate as the streets.
Qingru's eyes were filled with gray.
The focus is lost in sight.
Qingru knew that herself reflected in her eyes,
It's now, it's the future, but it's not the past.
It's no longer business as usual.
It's like the wind blows through my heart, leaving a feeling of loneliness.
Raising his hands to look at the moon, his face was cold and lazy.
Time spins, going around in circles,
But can't go back to the original starting point.
When I came back, my hands were empty and I was covered in dust.
Gained, lost, and tired.
Flowers are the new flowers of spring,
Tears are the remaining bitter tears,
People are passers-by who never return.
When I return home, I feel sad and desolate by the blood-like setting sun.
Qingru, naturally I am not called Qingru.
But she calls herself Qingru. As for what her name is,
No one knows.
Maybe it's because too much time has passed,
Long enough to forget my own name,
In fact, so what if you know?
Qingru is Qingru.
In Qingru's world,
Prosperity can be coveted;
Because Qingru's heart has no destination,
She doesn't even need a place to bury her bones.
Even if he burns her to ashes, there will be no regrets.
It's a pity that the prosperity of the world is beautiful,
It's always just a little smoke and rain.
So Qingru still retains that watchful heart,
Wandering gently in the world.