The banks of the Canglan River are filled with vast mist, and the river wind carries moisture across the bank. The young man's coir raincoat and bamboo hat were stained with water mist. He was holding a small pot of warm wine in one hand and a fishing rod hanging down the river in the other hand. There was no fishhook. His heart is not concerned with the disputes in the world, but he is drifting in the waves of rivers and lakes. He came from an unknown place. He raised his head and drank a sip of wine with a smile on his face. He wanted to see this equally unknown world and see its mountains, rivers, wind, moon and human fireworks.
