After walking for two or three miles, there were four or five houses in Yancun, six or seven pavilions, and eighty or ninety flowers.
At that time, she told me that her home was hidden in this poem. Looking at her silly smile, I couldn't help but feel a little disdainful: She is indeed a fool, and she can't even tell where she lives.
But why would I take such a fool's words seriously?