The clouds are moving like rain, the chi dragon is phantom, drifting far away without a trace, Xu Yu’s past is ashes. In the mulberry trees and pavilions, the grasses are fragrant, and the red flags reflect the red light. The candle room is darkened by the flowing dust, and the dim light enters the Western Sea. How can it be so graceful and graceful? Message to the stubborn stone, fake hand painting, evoke the old dream of Nan Yunluo.