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In the dark night, Gu Ying dances lightly. Wine is not intoxicating, but people are intoxicated. His clothes were in a mess, his movements were helpless, he was haggard in his sorrow, and his skinny years were tainted. A little tenderness that hurts spring and autumn, turns into a lonely figure with the wind. The other shore is far away, the lights are dim, the coolness of thousands of mortal world is shaken off, and it falls on the lake of memory, creating ripples of longing layer by layer.