The lingering green silk, the silky eyebrows, the spare time is desolate and hateful.
Unconsciously, I shed tears. If the memories still turn into songs, why don't they linger around me? Why has the voice and appearance of the person I miss been crushed into powder by time? For whom the makeup is made, but it ends in mourning. The blue hair is the king's ribbon, the clouds on the temples are swaying with golden steps, and the wind is especially heartbreaking.
Li Xianxiao, in this life, I have been honored and withered because of you, but I have lived so silently in the silence of hatred.
Maybe we shouldn't have met.