If the years is a song, then we are the singers, singing and playing it; if the years is a mountain, then we are the climbers, standing on the top of the years and feeding our soul. The old years is the tree rings, but the deep thoughts is in our heart. We forgot the promises, forgotten the past grand feast. It is so, who has never made a promise, but also who can say they have made one, must be able to do it. A journey of mountains and rivers, a traveler, a story, when we left each other, none of us need to explain anything. Since we are destined to part ways, then you and I in faraway lands, are each happy, whether the weather is sunny or not, it no longer matters.