Looking back, the autumn color is thinner. Take off a wisp of plain moonlight and hide your thoughts like water in the rustling cold wind, drinking in the sadness all over the place with the falling red. Follow the curve of your palm to follow your footsteps. I think that I have

Looking back, the autumn colors are thinner. Take off a wisp of plain moonlight and hide your thoughts like water in the rustling cold wind, drinking in the sadness all over the place with the falling red. Follow the curve of your palm to follow your footsteps.

I think that I have been waiting for thousands of years in endless reincarnation, letting the cold wind bite my bones, letting the frost freeze the roof, letting my years run out, and my temples stained by frost. Just waiting for you to come and warm me with a turning distance.

If you stick a flower into a hairpin and let the weak water flow for three thousand years, can you just remember your smile? Dance a song of colorful feathers in the light smoke and cold wind, picking up the endless ice of the years, just because all that is left to you is warmth.

Plum plums look like snow, and the mortal world is like a dream. Stand quietly under the plum blossom tree and send your plain thoughts far away. Don't ask about the return date, forget about the lingering love. Let the west wind drop the green trees, I can still see the end of the world. Find an excuse for yourself that you can believe. You are not coming back because the mountains are closed due to cold and snow.

The world is indistinct and the flowers are falling, and I am alone on the lonely couch in the brocade quilt. In the melancholy of falling snow, Ren Xiangsi also fell to the ground. Silly smile, so infatuated, why? But you are like a bowl of poisoned medicine. What you swallow is bitter, but the tears you shed are overflowing with sweetness.

If the clouds are woven into a brocade, and the dream is dim, can I show it with you? If you say, a pool of ink fragrance, drunken dreams and clouds, I would like to be the book in your hand, hiding all the euphemistic and lonely thoughts, for you to read for thousands of years.