In the winter of the sixth year of Yihai, the tavern was hot and dry, and snow was falling outside.
With my head covered with snow, I hurriedly walked into the tavern.
The sign in the tavern is shabby, the curtains are thick, and the wind is rustling. While I was drinking, an old man chatted with me. At that time, I was too drunk to listen carefully. After getting drunk, I felt the heavy snow was raging and the remaining candles were reddish.
Now that I have traveled thousands of miles, it is raining heavily outside the window. Recalling the heavy snowfall that day, it was like a dream. Light the lamp, pick up the pen, and jot it down briefly.