When it rains in Phoenix Mountain, it clears up at the beginning, the water and wind are clear, and the sunset is bright.
A hibiscus bloomed gracefully.
A pair of egrets flew from nowhere, admiring Pingting if you wanted to.
Suddenly I heard that mourning kites were being played on the river. They were bitter and affectionate. Who should listen to them?
The smoke gathers and the clouds gather, it is Xiang Ling as promised.
I want to wait until the end of the song to ask for it, but no one can see it, and the peaks are green.
Conception: