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Frost Knife of Tang Dynasty
Xuanhuan霜刀大唐
Persimmon Tree On The Cliff
A hand passed through the clouds and picked the moon. He opened his mouth and drank the wine with Peach Blossom in his mouth. A white horse beats the bluestone like a drum. A wooden sword plays shyly like playing a harp. The scholar in Tsing Yi's eyebrows are like jade in the water. The long shadow is as erratic as a ghost in the grave. The dark world covered his head. The bustling rivers and lakes have exposed their bones. Both the murderer and the slain are indifferent. What is dead and dying is decay. Red blood and black blood meet. The broken sword and the broken sword were buried together. There is nothing in the world, Just a dream.
A hand passed through the clouds and picked the moon. He opened his mouth and drank the wine with Peach Blossom in his mouth. A white horse beats the bluestone like a drum. A wooden sword plays shyly like playing a harp. The scholar in Tsing Yi's eyebrows are like jade in the water. The long shadow is as erratic as a ghost in the grave. The dark world covered his head. The bustling rivers and lakes have exposed their bones. Both the murderer and the slain are indifferent. What is dead and dying is decay. Red blood and black blood meet. The broken sword and the broken sword were buried together. There is nothing in the world, Just a dream.