The Passage of Years
Holding a silk fan, prosperity has cooled, how can the night rain and the bell of a mourning bridal chamber complain? Faded pastel ink, thin brushstrokes, a sorrow, not a sorrow, a lament not to be lamented, yet it turned out to be only for experiencing this life once. Among the thousand lakes, who is destined to be the one you yearn to drown yourself in? Amidst countless ships passing by, who is the raft you needed to ride across in this life?
Who has ever passed by on the roadside, only for that, a broken chapter, an empty memory, a dream solidified, allowing time to erase all traces. Love eventually has its place of departure. Those who take a sip, see a hazy illusion; those who savor it, absorb it into their very souls.
A beautiful young woman transforms into a butterfly, weaves fate and ties the knot. A fragile old affection transforms into tears, as pure as dust. Ethereal illusions fall as dust, fragrant as before.
The night falls, the moon grieves, deep and lonely. Time rushes by and vanishes, leaving no trace. The smoke and ruins bury the scars, the red dust and the dark streets accompany you.
