Huayang's turbans and cranes dance in their cloaks, iron flutes blow the clouds, and bamboo sticks hold up the sky.
Accompanied by strange willows and flower demons, Lin Xiang and Fengrui, wine and holy poems are Zen.
You should not think of the number one scholar in the world, or think of the immortals in the wind and moon.
Broken bamboo slips and fragments, the mist of calligraphy and ink fill the mountains and rivers with fragrance.