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Flowers die when they are young, it takes a thousand years for one thing to happen. I wish I could see my old friend again, say goodbye to each other in life and death, reincarnate in the six realms, and see each other again in different lives. By the Ershui River, autumn flowers are buried in blood, which cannot atone for the sins of the past. The clouds and foam are at the end of the sea, and the soul is confused on the other shore, unable to understand the Lotus Sutra. No matter how many years have been planned in life, the flowers will always be seen through a layer of fog. The virtual realm comes and goes, and the memories are like yesterday. I have been depressed and confused for many years, and my dreams are haunting. Forgetting thousands of Baidu, who can write complaints? Who is obsessed? Who can't bear to be separated from others? Years later, under the pen of history, she was lost. A thousand years of silence, a long thought of a promise. He promised: I am willing to be an ordinary person and live in the clouds.