The leaves rustled, the old story was like a cloud of smoke Noisy horizon is not the same as in the past The storm emerged in Yun Zhen, friends were sparse At that time around how generous the scene was Do not want to be contaminated with dust, but being infected with dust is not up to me The color of snow is the soul Do not want to cause resentment, but resentment how can be avoided Afraid that everything from the beginning was wrong Cool wind blew in the night, wash prosperity and failure everywhere But the old friend was gone Play guqin to ask the moon, over the years add a few exclamations Can't resist the hundred transformations of the world High mountains long rivers, writing horizontal and vertical ink strokes It is difficult to distinguish between opaque or clear The young man borrowed wine saying that the road was not full of turns True and false to the end must be clearly exposed Do not want to swing swords, yet it's not up to me Fife, does ...