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The bitter wine makes the rivers and lakes quiet, and the young man has nothing to worry about. Silver swords and gold knives fall in spring, and immortals, Buddhas, monsters and ghosts fight for right and wrong. Covering your hands with the red dust, turning your palms with rain, your daughter dances to a gentle tune. The Yangguan Cableway bifurcates, and the two realms of life and death are like a drunken pot. --Old Sun from Border Town