Jiang Chengzi’s ten years of life and death were uncertain. If you don’t think about it, you will never forget it. Thousands of miles of lonely tomb, nowhere to say desolation. Even if we meet each other, we should not know each other, our faces are covered with dust and our temples are like frost.
When night comes, I suddenly return home with a deep dream. Xiaoxuan window, dressing up. They looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears. It is expected that every year, at the place where the intestines are broken, on a bright moonlit night, there will be short pine hills.