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Finally one day, Sima Xiangru sent his wife a thirteen-character letter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine hundred. Ten million. The smart Zhuo Wenjun burst into tears after reading it. There is only one "100 million" missing in a line of numbers. Doesn't the absence of 100 million indicate that her husband is "unintentional" towards her? Her heart is as cold as water. With great sadness, I replied with a "Poem of Resentful Man".
His poem says: After a farewell, the two places hang together. Just say March and April, who knows five or six years. The lyre has no intention of playing, the eight lines of Chinese characters cannot be conveyed, the nine links are broken in the middle, and the gaze of the ten-mile long pavilion is about to penetrate. I miss you a lot, I miss you a lot, I have no choice but to blame you. Thousands of words can't be finished, and I can't stand it until I get bored. Nine times and nine times, I climb high to see the lone wild goose. In August and mid-autumn, the moon is full and people are not round. In July and a half, I hold candles and burn incense and ask the sky. In the dog days of June, when everyone shakes fans, I feel chilled. In May, pomegranates are as red as fire, but they are watered by bursts of cold rain. In April, the loquats are not yet yellow, and I want to look in the mirror and feel confused. Suddenly, in March, the peach blossoms drifted with the water, and in February, the kite string broke. Hey, Lang, Lang, I wish that in the next life, you would be a girl and I would be a boy.