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Coldness and darkness are dormant, and the texture of Tao and Dharma is fading. The lamentations and sutras of the chaotic ancient times are played, the immortals of the ancient immortal era are in Nirvana, and the heroes of the era of emperors have disappeared. Who dares to say that he is invincible. A catastrophe is approaching in Qufu, and the most vicious darkness in history is about to come. Should we go against the will of heaven and find a way out, or will we be lost to the torrent of history? The young man in white walked out of the wilderness, climbed to the nine heavens, and swept across the wasteland, just to fight a bloody path for the living beings. To be born in this era is undoubtedly despair, sadness, and the accumulation of bones. Looking back, I cannot see the past or the future. The red face and withered bones, the grass on the barren graves, and the wordless stone tablets tell the story of that heroic past. The breeze is blowing gently, and a young man in white robe, with dragon beard and crispy noodles, and a purple gold jug, drinks three sips of willows and falls asleep against the willows.