end
"The grassland is vast, the horses are on the plain, the rouge on the horses' backs is more beautiful than the flowers; the flowers reflect the moon, the moon shines on the sand, and the songs in the sand remind me of my home..."
The child no longer had the heart to accompany the old man to wait for the mirage, nor did he have the heart to explain to him the types of rouge horses - the old man seemed not to be listening to him at all.
So the child sang and walked towards the sunset.
The old man sat there, looking down at the red scarf around his neck. It was so bright red that every time he saw it, many years of events would flash before his eyes. It seemed like a dream, the horse racing on the grassland; it seemed like a dream, the meeting in the mirage; it seemed like a dream, the eternal farewell in the sea of fire on the city tower...
Nalati was blown up... the Junggars in the city died... the Junggars outside the city came again... the Qing army and the Junggar army were both defeated... the Junggars became the overlords of the desert... Emperor Kangxi personally led the expedition... Galdan committed suicide...
In the days without her, everything was so vague - who remembered whether Fu Chatao was killed in battle or crowned a king? Who remembered whether Li Mingxin became a monk or married? Who remembered whether Li Yunsheng's dream was lost or realized? Who remembered? Who remembered? ...
I don’t remember… He’s old.
The only thing that has not changed is the poplar tree. The Uyghurs say that a poplar tree lives for a thousand years without dying, dies for a thousand years without falling, and falls for a thousand years without withering. Perhaps this is why the poplar tree is called to witness the love of a lifetime!
The love of his life, his rouge horse.
