A Bamboo Horse Does Not Know the Color of a Green Plum

There is a kind of love that is intertwined with hate and nirvana in fire. Three generations of mismatched fates, each spring breeze comforts the loneliness Invisible hands, turning clouds and rain The blood breaks the seal, and the dream soul disappears. When we meet again, the mountains will be long and the rivers will be wide, and the evil fate will be gone. Can we never leave each other forever?