Poetry about it is hard to go.

The cost of pure wine is a gold cup and a hip flask with 10 thousand copper coins. Pan Yujian raised his glass in shame and stopped eating. I pulled out my dagger, and I peeped at four roads in vain. I will cross the Yellow River, but the ice-choked ferry will climb the snow-capped mountains. I will sit on a fishing rod and lean lazily by the stream, but I suddenly dream of sailing in a boat towards the sun. This road is difficult to walk, this road is difficult to walk. Hanging on the Golden Shore and Saving the Sea from Yun Fan One day I will ride the wind and waves.