The mountains brush against the faint clouds, the sky meets the withered grass, the sound of the horn breaks off in the setting sun. Pause the journey's oar, and briefly share a parting cup. So many old friends from Penglai, frequently looking back, the Smoky Haze is vast and boundless. Beyond the setting sun, countless cold crows, the flowing water winds around the low walls
At this moment of soul-wrenching sorrow, gently parting the silk belt, secretly untying the Sachet. Vainly gaining a reputation for frivolity in the pleasure quarters. When will we meet again after this departure, on the sleeves, the lingering fragrance remains. In the place of sorrow, looking out from the high city, the lights have dimmed.