I like this magical land very much, and I also like the legendary gardens on this land. This is the center of the city, the last pure land. Hundreds of acres of gardens and centuries of history. Over a small pool, uphill, another small pool. Uniform paths lead to secluded places, and uniform ancient trees are gray. Signs hanging on ancient camphor trees and ancient maple trees show that these ancient trees have a history of 200 years, that is, 150 years. The youngest osmanthus tree is one hundred years old. Standing on the bridge fence watching the fish and listening to the running water is like being in the world. The ancient wisteria meanders along the ancient trees with vigor and stubbornness, and the purple flowers on the wisteria bloom into unique flowers in spring. What is that flower waterfall? Pour out a majestic and profound, as if your unique elegance and romance. It's raining all over the sky and talking all over the sky. Birds are chirping. In such a pure land, their songs are the clearest. In their voices, they only know love, not hate. Birds sing like nature, accompanied by the sound of water, accompanied by flowers, in the depths of the shade, in the depths of loneliness, in the depths of Zen.