It’s poetic. Listening to the broken string, breaking the three thousand entanglements, the falling flowers are buried, submerged in the wind, the flowers are pity, whose fingertips fall? . I know there are a lot of words, but to sum it up, I heard the strings break, and the flowers fell into oblivion; the flowers were pitiful, and they fell from the fingertips, and the leaves fell one after another, and the fragrance spread. The night was silent, and the cold sound broke. What's the matter with the sad autumn wind? If you still need it, I will give it to you. you think.