Smoke locks the phoenix terrace, and the mirror is full of heartbroken.
Dreams are melodious, and I sleep in a bed embroidered with flowers.
Fortunately, I didn't walk to the half-closed door. The sunset made you cry for the last spring.
Drizzle can wet the spring grass, but it can't cover the streamer. When my lover didn't come, although I had resentment in my heart, I was still looking forward to it, just like time was still flashing.
My mind is boundless, but I still think about him in my dream. I hate his misfortune, but I left the door open before going to bed, so I left it half open for him.
The boudoir woman in Liuguang's heart is intertwined with love and hate, but still waiting for the lost love. It is this kind of waiting that makes the whole poem have a desolate and touching beauty. ....