A poem representing the future

There is no water and no road in the mountains, and another village braves the wind and waves, straight from my Yun Fan, and the deep sea on the bridge. There's still a long way to go, Xiu Yuan. I seek 30 fame, dust. Eight thousand miles away, the clouds are rolling and the rain is raining. Don't forget, I was born to be useful, spin a thousand pieces of silver and come back! A boat, a bamboo cloak, an old man fishing in the cold Jiang Xue.