Under the east wall, in the misty rain, a yellow flower rustles alone, which is really heartbreaking. It's not because the autumn wind is bleak and it's freezing, nor because it's dusk when the sun sets, but because who can pity the mountains and rivers and pedestrians even beyond the green hills?
Acacia under the bright moon, acacia outside the bamboo forest, can still bear, I am afraid that people in Qionglou dream of meeting each other, and by the Ming Dynasty, this rustling chrysanthemum has been disabled.