Eighteen years, Huang Kung-clay, the Cuijiu Tang ago. What life is like a sigh, floating flowers Mo, undefined status difficult to care, to sell mirror bridge. Separated mantle Yunshen, proudly Toru sound and live YANG Zhi old pass. The owner is good, but leave one stone Kun, Peng declared null angry. Not because hui died of septicemia next year. Pathetic is not sad for the four feast. Read what the enemy, Jiuyou dream, the wind the moon, weeds in abandoned fields. Pitch merciless, singing and hate, and the walls of his strings and a long depression. Autumn night, but soon filled river, and I ran from the Shan.