When the mountain fruits fall in the rain, I ask after searching my heart;

The grass and insects chirp under the lamp, and you know the autumn by stroking the sword.

The little people are forced to stumble forward in the strange mountains and rivers of roses.

As time went by, Zhang Wenda always felt that some things in his memory became abstract. He didn't know whether it was true or a distortion of his memory.

However, when he suddenly faced those things again, he found that something was wrong with the world.