Huang Ke's Notes

The wind and rain stir up the lingering melancholy, and the mountains and rivers have touched each other several times. Even if the flowers bloom in the spring breeze all night, the awakening will only last for a moment in the fading old dream. Like catkins in the south of the Yangtze River, the yellow sand desert, the endless and endless years are lost in an old dream. How do I hold onto the scribbles in my pen and meet him again in a parallel space when I was young? Every word is like a dream. There is no time for greetings and no time for confiding. The rest of my life in this mortal world is filled with joy.