In 2004, Mr. Fan Zeng, a famous calligrapher and painter, celebrated his 66th birthday. That year, Mr. Wang wrote for himself the poem "Qinyuanchun·Liu Liu's first birthday". The poem goes:
The misty (ai) green mountains, the rain (ji) clouds are opening, and the mood is clear. Reciting articles and reading (chi) algae makes me feel ashamed of the autumn water; painting Weiye (wei ye) makes me feel ashamed of talking about insects. Talking in vain, sipping clear tea and admiring it, sitting in the seat with the air of a noble scholar. It's really amazing that there is a swordsman named Yinhuang, who once held a rainbow. The most difficult thing is to bend your body like a bow, but you still feel like a child. Recalling the loneliness of a foreign land, I dreamed of returning to the Nine Sects; my hometown was full of lush flowers and trees. The old man is still stubborn and unwilling to be fooled, and the vast and flat sand is also powerful. From now on, he will be forty years old and a hundred-year-old immortal.