There was a woman with a hint of sadness in her smile, light and distant, like a locust tree in bloom.
She said that the grass grows and the orioles fly, the misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, and the gentle breeze are always there.
She said that in the vast dark night, boundless desolation, there was a child looking for a way with a lantern.
She said that thousands of miles away, the world is desolate, and there are seven kinds of love that can wipe out the desolation...