You are a cattail leaf fan in the shade,
Fan out a thousand years of history.
You are the dream of a shepherd boy sleeping on the back of a cow.
Wandering in the wind with the rain.
You are sad and eager, and you are happy and happy.
Just tears, or dancing.
Myth!
You are ethical code, you are Dan medicine, you are Buddha's palm,
It's a demon knife to hone the wild!
Cut off new shoots, cold temperatures,
Fill the blood with ice.
Flowers that won't bloom!
Myth.
You are an axe, you are an arrow and you are a piece of dirt.
It is the eternal firmness of avatar protection!
Stand up when you fall.
The hardships of word-making, the spread of civilization,
The same feelings are endlessly cultivated!
That peach blossom is the pursuit of immortality!
Myth.
So, you are us.
Myth.
This poem was read by Shu Ting's "Motherland, My Dear Motherland" at that time. I was very moved and wondered if I could write something in an old bottle. Then I wrote this "myth" myself. Thank you, Shu Ting. Thank you.