The script I wrote when I was in high school now seems like a long and embarrassing writing.
But I put it here without any modification, just to reflect on it or commemorate it.
The ways of hating people and gods are different, and resenting those who are in their prime are inappropriate. I resisted wearing my sleeves to cover my tears, and the tears flowed down my lapel. The memorial service will never end. The sorrow is gone and I am in a foreign land. There is no trace of affection to imitate love, and I offer the bright beauty of the south of the Yangtze River. Although he lurks in the sun, his heart is always attached to the king. Suddenly he didn't realize what he had given up, and he was so sad that he blocked the light at night. So the mausoleum is high on my back, and I can stay with my God, imagine my feelings, and look at my sorrow. He hopes that the spirit body will regain its shape and go up in a light boat. Floating on the Changchuan River and forgetting to return, I miss you endlessly. The night is miserable and sleepless, and the sun comes to dawn with heavy frost. I ordered my servant to drive away, and I will return to the east road. He held the bridle to resist the policy, but he was lingering in despair and could not leave. ——Cao Zhi's "Ode to the Goddess of Luo"
Intention: