In the morning, she can't smile at the rosy sunrise, nor can she talk to the moon in Juanjuan at night. Her eyes, Ming Che's shining crystal, gradually turned into a melancholy dark blue, and she always buried a melancholy tone. How dull she is! On a summer night.
(3) After several autumn rains, the stream rose several strokes; The first withered catalpa tree has lost all its green leaves; Golden dawn, from the gap between branches and leaves, goes deep into the stream; The wave surface splashed with indigo glows like a rainbow.