-Inscription (Text/Ruofeng)
At the beginning of the rain, the dusk is hazy, and the wind is floating in the city. Whose life is chaotic? Flying flowers break the moon, the bright moon cries, and Zheng Xiao sighs. Who broke your heart? Qinhuai Hugh, misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, fleeting chaos, hazy mirror flowers, broken hidden moon, whose prosperity has been submerged? Lush hay, bleak ancient roads, thin horses returning alone, a bright moon caressing the horizon, shallow lovesickness. Who can comfort the bitterness of separation of the world of mortals? Tsing Yi solo dance broke my heart, looking up at the cold rouge, the wind and rain, and the zither music hurt my soul. I have been in love all my life and have forgotten each other ever since.
Bloom's butterfly dance is like a phoenix flying, and Shui Yang's lotus fragrance has depth of field. The cold smoke is light, the ink is dyed, and the light green is glorious. It is another spring. The seasons change, the story ends, the years pass, the dead leaves are everywhere, the smoke is filled, lamenting that time has killed the lush face, or how much parting hate has love planted? As the sun sets, the lines of poetry wither. Hate the distance of fate, and blame the cold of heaven and earth. Clouds last forever, and the moon hangs forever. The clouds don't know that the east wind is thin, and the old moon doesn't belong to the lover. A song ends and the mountains and rivers are silent forever.
The flowing water is old, the time is quiet and pretty, and the slim figure is faintly bathed in misty rain. How deep the courtyard is, how messy the grass is, how many flowers fall, loneliness is a mountain, and people don't know where to go, but peach blossoms are still smiling in the spring breeze. Lonely lamp curtain wind, pomelo fragrance full of sleeves, drunken flowers and residual songs out of tune, half-life fate, who scattered the dream? Flying flowers are like fog, drizzle is like sorrow, and dreams are clear after years of separation. In the red dust, only true love is hard to find. Who promised to give me a stunning love? The West Chamber is full of sorrow, and the willow bridge gathers lotus flowers. It is quiet and quiet, and it has reached the edge of the ravine. Blowing in the wind, bloom, flowers fall again, the world of mortals everywhere. Who would I wish on?
Don't let the past become the past, only this life. Although the distance is far, but the heart; The world is cold and human feelings are warm and cold. I don't want to remember you yesterday; I am no longer familiar with you today. Love and hate lead Song Changxiao, Qiu Lai flowers wither. Leaning against the window wind, I don't smell the flute at the end of the world, HongLing leans lightly, but I don't see Iraqis laughing, the breeze fades away, the residual red willows are weak, and Qing Zi haunts my heart. Who will pity me? If there is love in the sky, it will be old.
Whose soul did the world of mortals ferry? Prosperous 3 thousand, defeated by quicksand. It's cold in the cold month, with dust and smoke staining the temples and red dust rolling. Who is my beginning and who is my ending? The past is gone, spring has gone and spring has come, and the beauty is old. Who should I do for? Don't think, forget yourself, and this situation becomes a memory.
The autumn river is full of water, cold sand brings rain, smoke waves around the continent, water is green and dusk, air is cold across the bank, and rivers and lakes are far away. The moon shines on the small building, the wine is drunk, the poem is half broken, and the thought is half broken. Looking back, I can't see the catkin body, only the shadow is chilling. Who will continue the rest of the sentence? The piano is lingering, the butterfly dance window, the secluded path is full of flowers, the sleeves are fragrant, and the desolate place is pointed out. Who is whispering in the breeze? Red candle shadow, embroidered couch cold, smoke broken cold eaves, nowhere to ask Jiangnan.
A whip from the south whipped the world of mortals, crossed violets, crossed autumn waters, and shed tears on Maple Bridge, and the dream was hard to accept. Loneliness is boundless, the autumn moon flies, a broken flute blows many fleeting years, tears fall on cinnabar without comfort, and no one knows when the flowering period is missed. Splendid and full of acacia, shaking down the prosperity.
The smoke is cold and strange, and the words are only love. The heart is in words, the ink is in agarwood and the pen is in plain pen. I told you everything about my death. A simple heart, waiting for the horizon.
After a hundred nights, who will light a green lantern for me and continue the Millennium fireworks; When the stars fall at night, who will hold a lamp for me and spend thousands of years alone? I have tasted the impermanence, joys and sorrows of the world, seen the deep affection and shallow fate of the world, and looked back at nothing, leaving only a dream of the world of mortals.
When the Iraqis left, the lights were dry and the people were scarce. A dream for a thousand years, who will hold the world of mortals with me and never leave?