In a Dream, Lan Zhou Lightly Crosses
The idle and scattered drizzle of words, drops of ink in shallow depths, deeply buried with emotion. Such a feeling, I truly cherish. When gradually peaceful, it manifests as the lonely vigil of solitude, accompanied by the black night and a cigarette that hasn't been fully burned, flickering and dimming.
The wind of the world gently brushes past, amidst the bustling and chaotic splendor of the red dust. The pale moonlight falls on a slender string, the delicate fragrance of tears, ultimately unable to overcome the unrestrained azure robes. The melancholy of leaning on a railing, shrouded and indistinct, distant and far off, flowing across the vast sky, or drifting along the riverside.
That ferry landing, that twilight riverbank, the deep, resonant melodies of the ancient guqin, softly emanating from the old times of the Song Dynasty, overflowing and then dispersing. A dream-like boat, a legendary story, has been integrated into someone's temperament, permeated someone's rain curtain.
In the midst of the summer, bathed in moonlight, filled with hazy smoke. The silhouette under the Night Rain at the Maple Bridge, reflected in the shimmering amber waves of dusk, reflected a thousand years.
Sometimes, a light laugh, laughing away the trivialities of the world. Yet, these endless thoughts of water and moon, inevitably drift away from the boat's edge. So, it's better to lie in the water's reflection, waiting for posterity to be intoxicated, the ends of the earth are just the ends of the earth, the vast ocean and the moon remain unchanged since ancient times. Life is like a dream, and not a dream. Ultimately, there is water in every river and a moon in every river, boundless sky with no clouds, unchanged since ancient times.
