The sun in the West Palace rises and sets, and after a hundred years of history, You'er looks back.
Only the setting sun remains.
She pushed open the mottled palace door. Dead flowers and dead grass. Spider silk and dust.
The draft passed between the eyebrows and wrinkled a yellow leaf.
If it was night, she thought, she might be able to hear the low ghost whispers and the palace's noisy laughter.
Still, I can see the dim candlelight and the silent people beside me.
The fluttering butterflies are old and dead on the withered vines, and she is swinging, as lost as the wind.
Intention: To seize love well