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After a hundred battles, the bones are mourned. The old horse knows the way and carries the bones back to the lady, who is dressed in red and holds a lantern to look at her. She takes off her red clothes and changes into funeral clothes. I can't wait for next year's lush vegetation, nor can I wait for next year's Green Lantern Ancient Buddha. I waited until His Majesty's peaceful and prosperous age, and when my comrades-in-arms returned home in fine clothes, and returned to their red clothes and yellow flowers. I knelt in the court and brought my sick body to tell the story, saying that I must die a good death. I am a war horse fighting on the battlefield, and the reins are frayed, scarred, and scabbed to the point where I have a thick callus on my skin. I am waiting for the crescent moon in my hometown to become the brightest star in the sky. When the mist of the mountains fades away and your face is covered with mist, I can say "Long time no see" to you.