Collecting Things at the End of the Year

It's the end of the year, and I occasionally recall the past, the long and short stories at home, and the words of passers-by, all of which have inspired me. Don't listen to the sound of beating leaves in the forest, why not scream and walk slowly. Bamboo sticks and mango shoes are easier than horses, who is afraid? A coop of mist and rain will last a lifetime. The steep spring breeze blows away the drunkenness, it is slightly cold, but the mountain tops are shining slantingly. Looking back at the desolate place where I came from, there was neither wind, rain nor sunshine. This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.