Tall buildings soar into the sky, and ancient and modern books are poor.
At the beginning, new dreams took off, blood poured into my chest, and my spirit was brand-new.
Pingming is different from the dream, adding new worries and obscurity.
Noisy and bustling, confusing, loneliness is a hero.
Fireflies reflect snow cones on bones, like a pointer to urge you to read.
In the morning, dew shines and willows hang down on the river.
Reading is the most beautiful time, and the sound of the book is loud and dry.
Only the first two sentences hide the dawn. Hope to adopt.