The purple gold flowers bloom early, the ice wind and smoke are floating on the Huangquan Road, and the white clothes and pockets are fluttering.
For a hundred years, I have been waiting on this Naihe Bridge. My face, reflected in the underworld, has gradually lost all its facial features. I wonder if you can recognize this faceless ghost as your Zijin now that you are here.
For a thousand years, I have been waiting on this Naihe Bridge, and the bull-headed and horse-faced people passing by gave me a bright light. People say that there are ghost guides by the Naihe Bridge, who hold street lights to illuminate the way for the troubled and confused ghosts. I don't remember that I am a ghost. My memory has been swallowed up by the biting wind and all that is left is waiting for you. If I hadn't remembered to wait for you, I think I would have turned into a pillar with a street lamp hanging on it.
One thousand and one years ago, I cried on this Naihe Bridge because I found that I suddenly couldn't remember what you looked like. ． ． ． ． ．
But why haven't I waited for you after a thousand and one years?