Who can know how many dreams there are in the world? Dreams are so complex that they are so elusive. The Yellow Emperor dreamed of Huaxu, Zhuang Zhou dreamed of butterflies, and the dream of Huang Liang came to nothing...
A hundred years of life will eventually end in the loess; what we have experienced in this life is suddenly like a dream. A bowl of clear soup makes me look back at my hometown and remember it again; beside the Sansheng Stone, I forget the river without regrets.
Just a bowl of Meng Po soup can erase a lifetime of regrets. A broken-bone fan can disperse the sorrow of this life. Love grows like acacia beans, and tears write eight lines of writing.
This article is purely a work of imagination, please do not be overly critical. ?(?^O^?)?