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The mist swept over the mountains, and the snow covered the eyebrows. How much love is spreading is like the lingering mist on the fingertips; everything in the past is frozen in the past. How many quills, thoughts wrinkled by the wind; how many memories of dreams, joyful faces dimmed by light. How much softness is like spring snow in summer, slowly flowing all over the ground, how many oaths of grass growing and orioles flying... Gently walking through the Jiangnan years with the sound of springs, Slowly draw out the clear source of Miao territory beside the Phoenix tree, The broken water, the unfulfilled long-cherished wish...