There is a song with Chinese style, which begins with the coolness of chanting autumn.

The autumn wind and cool breeze burst into tears, and the residual red was helpless.

How many dreams linger at midnight after reunion? It is hard to be happy in the end.

The bleak west wind can't blow away the fog, and how many past events and old feelings disappear in the misty rain.

Mo Yan is cold. Who knows who is drifting in the running water with a piece of duckweed?