Hope
Let the dead leaves of the solitary son spin and be intoxicated in Han Che's soul
Hope
Let the art of mourning never wither in the burning fire
That night when the crow stopped on the window lattice
Leave the scenery in your green eyes to the dark night
So I pillowed on the thunder and lightning and embraced the stars
deep sleep
Lost and forgotten, picked up an iris
Let the ghost's smile clink glasses with the gods
Who would have known that when the wind and rain bells ring,
Is spirits a purple reputation or a black tombstone?
Concept: In order to satisfy his curiosity, the painter Si Qian worked hard in a horror game, picking up trash everywhere, and finally got his wish.
