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I have been immersed in the thousand-year singing of the white fox for a long time, drifting into the studio step by step, and transformed into a white fox in your writing... (It's also a dream, please come with me into the world of Liaozhai) I am a fox waiting for love, dressed in white, as lonely as snow. Late at night, when I have no intention of sleeping, the music whispers to my ears, the pillow is filled with the warmth of imagination, listening to the breathing of my heart, the quiet sobs, curling around, passing through the mottled years, entwining the graceful grace of sadness and lamentation. It was already spring, but I was so immersed in the thousand years of waiting that I couldn't help but feel meditative. At the moment of heartbreak, I feel like I am falling into the mist. A white fox song, with its tearing sound, makes my heart wander like a song. I seem to have spanned thousands of years. Can you let me dance for you and for love again, and perform a perfect ending? Night after night, who is crying for whom, crying for the tenderness that has been wandering for thousands of years? Time and time again, who is intoxicated by whom, intoxicated by a long-forgotten infatuation? Don't let the white fox's infatuation become an unprecedented pain, spreading among the rolling world, but still waiting for nothing. If possible, please let me warm its meridians with my beating blood, lingering in the heart of the world, washing away the shock of the body and mind, enjoying the dimly lit loneliness in the rolling mortal world, accompanying this gentle night, infinite sadness. Who is it? I still vaguely remember the tenderness last night, that affectionate look back, as if I have a thousand words to say, the song that was conceived countless times in my dreams. Listening to the white fox, it wakes up the thousand-year slumber, the unbearable longing, and whispers the heavy feelings and love, rising and falling in the vast sea of ​​people. When the noise subsides, the heart is broken, the hollow in the ground penetrates a curtain of dreams, ignites the accumulated longing, and gently flaps the dusty wings, one has to lament the helplessness of the beauty. Was the meeting thousands of years ago a lucky fate or an inevitable doom? Is the reincarnation of thousands of years the beginning of romance or the end of tragedy? Crossing the entanglements of the world of mortals, abandoning grudges and grudges, and filling the gaps that are out of print. Who is it? Watching the heartbeat of the past, in that splendid place, the past has been condensed into frost, and every bit is a helpless injury. Inside and outside the wall of time, the clouds disperse and the rain flies.

Although the dreaming season has long passed, I always have a different feeling for the things of the ancients. I don't even know why I have such a puzzling classical complex. If you look at it from an idealistic point of view, perhaps it is an innate sense of nostalgia! I have always loved history. History is rich and broad because of the accumulation of time. I am in love with classical elegance, and the beauty of charm that penetrates from the inside out floats in front of my eyes, like a splash-ink landscape painting; on a foggy morning, there are the subtle chirping of birds, the fragrance of ink filling the room, and the vague sound of flute in the distance. In short, the classical feelings left me with a fresh, elegant, elegant and graceful beauty. When playing guzheng music, such emotions will arise in my heart, and my mind will also recall that era when the breeze was bright and the moon was bright, there were flowers and trees, tea and wine, poems and paintings; there were champions, carriages, and beauties! If time can really go back, if there really is a space-time tunnel in the universe, then; I am willing to travel through a thousand years, walk in the light of a thousand years, dream back to the charm of the Tang and Song Dynasties, and condense in the mist and rain...