Mr. Wang has passed away, recalling the past rain, and the literary world has been at a loss since then.
Lu Xun is a torrent, a waterfall and a swift current, but there will always be Lu Xun's sea in the future;
Lu Xun is frost and snow, hail and continuous cold, but there will always be Lu Xun's spring in the future.
Fang hangs in April, overlapping two stars, and East Asia and Western Europe weep together;
Recite two hearts, regret one side, and evoke souls everywhere.
Hanging a tomb sword when returning to China.
Mud is hard to find gold to carry the wind.
The most meticulous style of writing is not the history of China's novels;
The last words are particularly painful. Don't be a short writer.
I don't cry, I don't cry, I don't cry, I don't cry, I don't cry, I don't cry, I don't cry, I don't cry, I don't cry, I cry, I cried four months ago.
Words can spread, deeds can spread, and teeth can spread. Sri Lanka is really old. For 30 years, it has fought its way out, waiting for orders, and this expensive ending is dead.
There are masterpieces, people, and youth, and the husband will not die;
No official, no love for money, no defection, my mentor.