I close my eyes, and the stars in my dreams transform into you.
In the longing for an unreachable distant land, dream blossoms bloom as mist, with wisps of smoke rising gently.
You know the river is hard to cross; a foolish man always remains beneath the water.
Between brows and eyes, the red dust of the world is inlaid, pour a cup of translucent coolness, and listen to the wind's song.
Gently arranged and slowly spun, plum blossoms still wither in the spring wind; late at night, suddenly dreaming, youthful beauty misplaced, regretting and lamenting.
The years grow cool, a long, long misty rain, wetting someone's memories, that pale blue and grayish-green Jiangnan left someone's warm, affectionate, wistful dreams.
You are like a thousand snows of the late winter, and I am a street; we meet for a late afternoon, but must part in a spring.
Dimmed the worldly splendor, shed youthful beauty, shed years of youthful exuberance, thin the fragrance of fingers,
You are like a heady wine burning my youthful beauty; I drink it with a smile. How many times have I paused at the bridge of Nigama, drinking a bowl of Momo's soup, unable to swallow.
I have a jar of exquisite wine, the moon as a pillow, a thin mist as a blanket, warming a jar of past memories, to share with you.
The sea is boundless, only 'waiting' written, you can entrust the stars to be messengers; if I can make a piece of silvery-white cloth, staining the wound, I would know that you cannot return.
I open my eyes, the breeze and the moon are you, flowers, trees, and rivers are you. So I close my eyes, the starlight transformed into you in my dreams.
May there be mist lamps in the countryside, you hold a torch to cross the river and illuminate my foolish youth; Thereafter, no more night carts will drive to lonely stations, wind and rain can return to the boat.
If your eyes are truly like that cold, under your gaze, a personal heart would form into ice.
