The palace is as deep as the abyss, and the destiny is like poetry. This is a joy and sorrow under gorgeous clothes, an elegy that has been forgotten by history, and a situation that has long been doomed. And she is, after all, the unlucky person in the poem.
The red door is deeply locked with phoenix feathers, and the jade steps are hanging in the air and ringing.
The spring silk is all connected to the branches, and I can bear to watch the autumn frost wither the jade garden.
The peonies have lost their thunderous color, and their cold pistils have withered away their emotions.
The orchid weeps and the dew crows, and the golden bird mourns for the underworld.
The ancient Buddha with a green lantern is accompanied by a solitary shadow, and the sound of oriole can still be heard in the dry well.
The water in the pond is silent with the broken wings of Gu Hong, and the colorful luan is trapped in the scenery of the mountain.
Wen Yuhan shines through the Jinping star, who understands the compassion and pays Dongming?
Don't lament that beauties have such a bad fate. The palace walls are meant to be the burial mausoleum for flowers.
Intention: Elegy
