202335 Reading Notes | "The Sky Is Waiting for the Misty Rain" - After you leave, the wine warms the memory and I miss you.

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Fang Wenshan, the author of "The Sky Is Waiting for the Misty Rain", has many classic lyrics with Jay Chou. The excerpts are as follows:

After you left, the wine warmed my memories and I missed you.
I led you through the ancient road outside the fence through the years of smoke and grass, even when we broke up, we were silent.
Let's get drunk in the spring with a white head. The east wind blows through thousands of tears.
In the lyrics of "East Wind Breaks", the phrase "wine warms memories and longs for thinness" was inspired by Li Qingzhao's "Like a Dream": The rain and wind blew violently last night, and the remaining wine was not consumed by the heavy sleep. When I asked the person behind the curtain, I found that Begonia was still the same. Do you know? Do you know? It should be green, red and thin.
The luminous cup of grape wine reminds you immediately if you want to drink Pipa.

Invite the bright moon to make the memories bright and love perfect under the moonlight
Yuanzi Jue, you have been reincarnated several times, you frown and cry, and you can’t bring back your beauty.

The sky is blue, waiting for the smoke and rain, and I'm waiting for you. The smoke from the kitchen is rising thousands of miles across the river. On the bottom of the bottle, the Han Dynasty script imitates the elegance of the previous dynasty. Just treat it as a foreshadowing of my meeting you.

The afterglow of the sunset is as drunk as your shyness
How can I explain the thousands of words of love written by the waves on the shore? No matter how I write, they are all wrong. I only lack the understanding of you in my life.

When I wake up from the dream, who is opening the ending on the window sill? The future is as thin as cicada wings and cannot withstand anyone to tear it apart.
I send you away thousands of miles away. You are silent in black and white. In the age of silence, maybe we shouldn’t be in love too far away. I send you away thousands of miles away. Are you still there?

Golden kudzu is covered with carved doors and windows, and the setting sun is reflected slantingly on the mottled brick walls. The house paved with beech boards is still filled with the bean paste brewed by my grandma.

Quickly use the nunchaku, humhahaha. Quickly use the nunchakus, humhahaha. Those who practice martial arts, remember who is the benevolent invincible who is practicing Tai Chi. When things are prosperous, quickly use the nunchakus. humhahaha. Quickly use the nunchakus. humhahaha. If I He has light skills, can fly over eaves and walk over walls, is upright and unyielding, and has a righteous spirit.

Your tears are like pear blossoms, all over the paper. Love and hate in the world are like freehand landscape paintings. The sword is unsheathed. Who laughs? I just want to hold you in my arms now. The Red Dust Inn is like a knife. The wind is like a knife. The rain is falling. Destiny is knocking.
No matter who is the leading coquettish person in Wulin, I only bend my waist for you. You look back so tenderly. I am smiling in my tears, drinking and waving flags. The sword is unsheathed in the wind. The grudges are gone.

The flowers have fallen towards the evening, and the fate of the bright and withered world is unbearable.

The morning smile slants,
the stories turn into golden colors,
the cold winter is folded in half,
the hot summer is folded in half,
here
all the sorrows are insignificant.
In the story,
the long paragraph about you that embarrassed me
was just abbreviated to "depression"
, but I was still thinking about the words
, and it was only in the process of brewing. What
I finally sent
was only the last line.
Under the sunset,
the blue ocean
stretches as far as the eye can see, and the daisies on Kilimanjaro Reef
are swaying in the wind.
How could I?
They said
there was so much sadness behind my poetry.
I put my pen diagonally on the manuscript paper dejectedly
and interrupted the unfinished poem in my hand.

Looking at the bright moonlight outside the window
and the fragrant jasmine in the garden in the summer night,
I began to seriously think about the answer.

Yes, there are so many winds and frosts in the world.
If it weren’t for the way you turned around and left,
this season without maple leaves would look so vicissitudes of life.

How could I, how could I, want to write all the joys and sorrows about love in one
go before my short youth fades away?
Many years later, the butterfly specimens
are just like the carefully preserved wind.
I say that no matter how bright and gorgeous the fate is,
it is just
those of us who have whizzed by.