The flowers are dying, and the tears are falling; it is not like the old dream village.
The beauty is at night, the clouds are beautiful, the sword is drawn and the sleeves are danced, but the sky cannot be broken.
Sigh lightly.
Wild geese fly by.
Wildly arrogant in the world, heroic sons and daughters.
Once upon a time, you and I were in the shadow of swords and swords.
The ten fingers are slender, but the soul of the king is not seen in the grave.
Tears welling up.
At the end of the flying flowers, is it worth touching?
Remembered.
Every night I dream, every morning and every year is wasted.
The white tassel gun and the red satin silk are old things that add to the sadness.
The passing years are like fireflies, the lights are moored in the river; the cicadas sing in autumn and break through the moonlight.
The aroma of wine is still there, alone among the flowers.
Looking at the moonlight of the covered bridge, the old shadows are gone, only the wind and the load are left.
In troubled times, love and hate last for many years.
Not comfortable in this world, lonely without a trace.
The heart has passed without success, but I still remember: I envy the mandarin ducks but not the immortals?
The words are ringing in my ears and I can't hold them.
Si! Kong Shou, Dugu has thousands of dreams?