A thousand voices were quiet, but the bell rang. It is easy to think that this poem by Wang Wei has the same effect.

On a pure morning, near the ancient temple, the early sunshine points to the treetops.

A winding path leads to a hidden place, and the Buddhist temple is surrounded by branches and flowers.

Here, birds live in the mountain light, and people's hearts feel quiet in the pond.

And thousands of sounds are quiet, but Yu Zhongqing (Qing) sounds.

Ruruoye creek

Wang Ji

What's average? Empty water.

The afterglow of the sunset rises from the distant mountains, and the sun shines on the winding water.

The cicadas are singing, and the Woods are particularly quiet; The singing of birds in the mountains is more beautiful than usual.

This place has given me a hermit's heart. I'm tired of my official career but I'm not retired and sad.