The window is moist and calm. Reliving the intertwining, the flying snow has gone. Flowers bloom in a season, but the ruins are ruined. How dare I grow old if you haven't come yet. If I live and die in a drunken dream, and the song ends and everyone is gone, will you pick up the flowers in the morning and evening, as beautiful as flowers, with picturesque features?
Purpose: What exactly do people pursue in life?