Ten years of life and death are uncertain.

If you don’t think about it, you will never forget it.

Thousands of miles away from the lonely grave, there is no place to speak of desolation. [1]

Even if we meet each other, we should not recognize each other.

My face is covered with dust and my temples are like frost. At night, you suddenly return to your hometown with a deep dream.

Xiaoxuan window, dressing up.

We looked at each other without words, only a thousand lines of tears.

It is expected that the broken heart will be broken every year.

On a bright moonlit night, there will be short pine hills.

Su Shi's "Jiangchengzi"