Love Xiao, pour out your life.
Just like the process of making a flute, empty everything/leave nothing in case of a holiday.
Chasing the flute in my dream is very long.
Jiangnan misty water, I wander the river, the cold wind is full of sleeves.
Across the fence woven by years, across the empty mountains and valleys.
Through the night, through the dream, the heart and soul are together.
Does the flute have a spirit/pour its heart? Melodious and profound
I was shocked/not as good as a flute player/a fleeting look back
An implicit smile, tenderness.
When dust comes out, people lose weight.
Xiao's departure/quenching was unexpected.
With her arrival, fate remains the same.
That mistake is the biggest regret in my life.
I love the flute with my life, but it will be wrong.
Fragments of flute, heartbreaking fragments, scattered into mud.
It turns out that the beauty of this world will never be stop for a minute.
Between the shades of pen and ink
I seem to have suddenly found a solid excuse for myself.
Sew the wound in the dark, facing the sun.
What I can't hide is that/unforgettable sadness.
Ten years of life and death, a few degrees of residual snow reflected the sunset.
I gently add a piece of loess for you.
If there is an afterlife, pass by my grave.
I know you will put your hands together and pray for me.