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In the dream, mountains and rivers face each other, and a lonely soul wanders in the sky. The mystery of life and death is still like an illusion, the clear moon on the mountain is even colder. Floating in the chaos, being kept captive by the attention of the strong, I don't know when I will pick up the butcher knife in my hand. Moving forward resolutely, the white horse and silver spear march across the mortal world, and the ink shadow immortal sweeps across the four realms.

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There is a stream in the west. Its water is black and yellow. It comes out from below and flows down again. It is called Huangquan. Throughout the ages, I don't know how many secrets are buried under the underworld.