That year, you were dressed in rags and strayed into the underworld ten miles away, forgetting where you came from deep in the flowers.
That year, I returned to my hometown in fine clothes, riding a horse across the vast mist of the south of the Yangtze River.
There was a storm, and the city was filled with mist and rain.
When we meet each other in the new year, I frown, but you lower your eyes.
Maybe you will feel like old friends at first sight, and your eyebrows will be like books!