There are no people in the deep courtyard, the grass and trees are shining,
The color welcomes the snow and the frost.
The tea soup was passed into the hands of the palace maids,
it flowed into the South Lake and was filled with fragrance.
The remaining soul weeps to the moon in the wilderness,
Dreams like butterflies and looks for flowers,
Looking back in the court to watch the gun dance.
What about this?