Second, you said ten miles of peach blossoms, two people and one horse, and later thanked the bustling, life and death have nothing to say.
Third, white tea has nothing else. I am waiting for the wind, waiting for you. Bitter wine leaves willow, there is no wind and no moon.
Fourth, the heart is micro-moving, but it is far away, things are not right, people are not right, things are not right, and the past cannot be chased.
Five, spring water, spring forest in full bloom, spring breeze miles, not as good as you. I wish I could look back with years and grow old with deep affection.
Six, do not love worldly glitz, do not write the world of mortals, do not sigh the desolation of the world, do not make people sad. Look at the flowers, wait for the flowers to fall, be warm and cold, and be as clean as ever.
Seven, spring to spring without a trace, bloom rain. The vows of eternal love are particularly true, and the pearls are empty.
Eight, you wasted an intoxicating glass of wine, but you couldn't solve any troubles.
Nine, actors into the painting, endless. That year, in the prime of life, whoever promised to die.
Ten, turn away, blue and white; Leave a history book, full of lights.