1, a heavy curtain between heaven and earth, can't see the face of the sun clearly. Reaching out and lifting it gently, the veils of the mountains and rivers bypassed the wet fingertips and touched the cold lips of the earth. The river rises gracefully, the clouds shake off the skirts, and the wind is a light dancer.
A leaf boat, hidden or present, the song of Shaogong is leisurely in the depths of the sea of clouds, and the headlights are open with dim eyes, trying to find a way forward. Passers-by are not in such a hurry, but their hair and skirts are still wet. Maybe it's better to be hazy, maybe it's more real, maybe they can't find their way in confusion, so let the sun penetrate. Clear original appearance, clear and bright heart, more visible distance.
Listen, tinkle, in the thick fog, someone is waving a hammer and chisel. Carved out one by one, the more chaotic and detailed. There must be a definite bloom, and it must pass through his blood and iron.
Following the sound, I walked towards him for most of my life, but I haven't seen him yet. Instead, he was hit with several big bags on his forehead, which were full of fragments of fog he had cut down. They point to the emptiness and withering of the fog. In these suitcases of my life, a sword is quietly taking shape, waiting to be drawn and handed over to him.