When all the glory is gone, what’s the point of ruining it?
A song about leaving homesickness, withered trees chasing away, worldly ties gone, time passing by, flowers in front of and under the moon, cares that have been weathered throughout life, but have already turned yellow.
——Inscription.
Liuyun Chanjuan dreams of the flower house, enjoying the fragrance of maple leaves and burning flowers alone, cold clothes warming the snow-capped mountains, frivolous young people still thinking about the beacon fire, drunkenly drinking blood and wanting to stop the old building, dyeing the grass, words have been said At the end of the day, my life is worried about the sky, my heart is empty, I miss my beautiful skin in the cold weather, I wave my sleeves and smile, I am drunk and greedy for my life, I commit a peach blossom, my heart is in chaos, I sigh that the fallen flowers are hard to find.
After nine trips to Mengzhou, spring comes again after drinking wine.
Eight Gui evil and one hexagram, the clothes are frosted with frost, the curtains are wrinkled with seven smiles, and the well in Luo Fengxiang is full of sorrow.
Six steps away and a carnival feast, old friends are far away and I feel sad at night.
Five streams converge into the Yangtze River, and Qingshan Gusu flows eastward.
In April, there are several small snow piles, and the burning song of the snow sighs indifference.
How can we respond to the old dream that has been delayed for three years? The sun rises in the east, the carved snow has broken, and the slaves can't play all the music for a night. They are proud and extravagant on the bamboo organ. They don't envy the fairy white snake, just waiting for the tears of the glass.
When will the vast vicissitudes of life return? With a cup of tea, I continue to appreciate the waterside countryside, falling in love slowly on the willow bank, with fallen leaves and flowers in the willow shade, and Boy Ya longing for the piano to say goodbye to each other.
When the glory is gone, what is the point of ruining it? The wind and snow are like flowers, the sand is flamboyant at the fingertips, the green shirt is carved with flowers, and the moon is crescent. It is difficult to return with the passage of time, and the old city tower is intoxicated.
Singing in the pavilion at night, I am jealous of the fragrance of flowers. I burn three candles to offer sacrifices to the past, and scatter a glass of wine to my old friends.
The past is like smoke, miserable, and moonless, how can we say goodbye?
The beautiful wind has passed, and the autumn water cannot return its traces.
People who ask for directions are looking for guidance. The vast river road is full of twists and turns, accompanied by smiles and no makeup.
There are no tears in the vicissitudes of life, how can the rhyme and dark sand drift away? Looking through the white snow-like clothes like the moon, the eternal moon, a worldly prosperity, has turned yellow.
Laughing, where can I go from the end of the world?
The sound of the pipa can be heard across the waves, pointing to the end of the world. The beautiful mountains are like ink paintings, and the feelings are embarrassing. Why not, with three frowns on the face and a small person, relax and bewitched with a smile.
In the stormy sea, if there are unresolved grievances and grudges in the world, the hand that pours the wine and writes the sequence, the golden feathers linger around the autumn.
In the painting boat, a few warm flowers are like swallows crying and sneering clouds are rising, the splashing ink organ is dripping with water, and the music is ripples. The old city is windy and rainy, like falling stars broken, heart-wrenching but beautiful.
Listening to the rain is like being drunk, the smoke and rain are rushing in the twilight, like wine and water, and the breeze is still broken.
Thousands of miles across the country, the mad horse laughs, the flute sounds to thank the glory, the blood is about to spill, and the hair turns white.
Smile again, and the Yangko dance in the pavilion will turn red.
After drinking a cup of stew, the world of old paper has been cut off, the cries of birds have been cut off, and the sound of water flowing in the stream has been cut off. How can we stop crying on the bridge?
I pity the beauty of the courtesan, and the fallen flowers are lingering.
Looking through the autumn water, the geese are separated by the wind, and the geese return when they reflect the water like the moon.
The quiet years have wiped out the fragrance in my arms, and I have chosen a soil to inherit. It is difficult for purple mountains to be dyed with bloody red mulberries.
A smile brings tears to the city, and when the shadowless wood spirit watches the lantern at night, do you know how many times have passed? Even if there is a feeling of spring for wine, a night of wind and a night of emotions, the Ming Dynasty will be first-class.
How many songs are there? How many stranger flowers are there? Who is happy and who is laughing? Do not change the beauty building, do not laugh at the celadon ancient mausoleum, the water splash is like a mirror, and the youth is easy to let go of the fate.
Liuqu’s love for three lives is short-lived, and it’s only then that we know it’s gone. When will we rejoice?
The song has ended and the people have dispersed.
Dreams still disturb my loneliness, my talents are exhausted, and my words are silent and insincere.
When duckweed travels across nine states, he can recognize red peach blossoms. When will he cherish the comparison? The silent years make people afraid. Upstairs and downstairs, at that moment, you will know how drunk you are!
Thinking of the west wind alone, paying homage to the end of the world, the wind is leisurely, understanding the grudges and grudges with a smile of good wine, exploring the world of beauty, smiling foolishly across the shore, drinking alone, and getting drunk.
After spreading wine and offering sacrifices to the ancients in the bamboo sand forest, I realized that the blood could no longer dye the red cinnabar.
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