The wind is rustling, the water is boundless, and the dusk clouds are yellow and cold. Beyond the sunset, the waves roll and the words flow eastward.

Running into the sea, no matter how hard it is, the long wind and rocks hinder the return journey. Go south, wave your hand and go straight to the sea.

Asking about life and sighing for the New Year, it's time for me and China's leaves to fall. Raise a glass and get drunk, sing to the moon, and stop worrying.

A long river flows, and ambition is hard to pay. There are few confidants, but tears still flow. Who can listen to a broken string?

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Yin Changhe's video