【抒情古風 - 葬雪】世人皆嘆瑞雪降世，誰知那只是我碎裂千年的無聲孤寂。🌙夜霓裳｜抒情古風原創 【Official Lyric Video】

🌙 *The Burial of Snow* Mortals possess a peculiar vanity, bestowing sentimental whims upon the shifting skies. "Auspicious snow promises a bountiful year"? Hmph, what a pathetic, laughable delusion. Not long ago, I—this humble Night Rabbit—found the incessant droning of that rigid toad in the Lunar Palace quite unbearable. In search of a fleeting diversion, I rummaged through his mountain of discarded drafts. Who would have thought those self-proclaimed "exalted deities" couldn't even dispose of an old file properly? On a slip of yellowed Xuan paper, I found his annotations from ages past. The ink bit deep into the grain, pulsing with a familiar arrogance and wild abandon—a trace so stubborn that even the karmic fires of the Heavens failed to consume it. I should have cast it directly into the Soul-Dissolving Furnace. To cling to such a worthless relic of the mortal realm would only sully my gaze and hinder my path. (My fingertips tremble ever so slightly. I tighten my grip, clenching the paper until my knuckles whiten, before concealing my hand within the depths of my dark, brocaded sleeves.) Yet, I tore it. I deluded myself into believing that by shredding those familiar strokes into a thousand fragments and scattering them upon the world below, this farce titled "Obsession" would finally reach its end. I watched those paper shards pierce the clouds, transforming into a deluge of snow that draped the vermilion walls and emerald tiles of Chang'an in white. I listened to the foolish mortals below, hands clasped in prayer, cheering for the arrival of winter... and I thought I had won. I believed that through this blizzard, I had finally carved out that ancient debt—and his name—from the very core of my being. The snow blanketed everything. How pristine. No more the crimson stain of clashing blades, no more promises of eternal damnation, and no more of him—the one who would never look back. Standing alone in the coldest shadows of the moon's far side, I gazed down with icy indifference at the spectacle I had wrought. Yet, I found myself unable to exhale even a single breath of warmth. (I tilt my head back, suppressing the bitter ache in my throat and forcing back the unshed tears. My voice is a fragile whisper, brittle enough to shatter at a touch.) I have lived for a millennium; how many cycles of life and death have I witnessed? A few scraps of paper, a mere flurry of snow... how could I possibly care? But as the snow ceased and the drifts turned to mire in the mortal world, I finally realized... what I had torn to pieces and scattered to the freezing winds was never some ancient scroll. It was my own heart—a heart that died with him a thousand years ago, yet had been tirelessly, laughably, pretending to beat.