Rain from the Tang dynasty has re-surged,
all feelings gather in a fine mist, and lighter still is the joy of rain as a witness
to the landscape of fear fleeing like mist up the mountainside
No one can walk here,
save shy deer, save wind and rain,
save those invisible wings
that can gently lift the whole garden
up to the constellations.
we are the weeping spring rain
Sometimes I suddenly stop on the road
feel a breeze brushing my ears
That’s you passing by
and when the light catches up with it, I catch myself
and throw myself into the depths
It was an autumn long ago
I was still young then, still in love with something