After death, people may become ghosts in legends, or they may become dust in the world. As a ghost, I have traveled to many places but never stayed. I didn't drink the Wangyou soup made by Meng Po Sanqi; I didn't cross the Naihe Bridge; I did cross the Wangchuan River. At Wangxiang Terrace, I saw half a patch of yellow sand and half a patch of plants with flowers and no leaves. Only then did I know that this was Manzhu Shahua. I once stayed among the flowers on the other side of the eight-hundred-mile boundless underworld where immortality is divided into three or seven species. At that time, Changsheng was still waiting for Panax notoginseng, and Manzhu Shahua was very delicate, so he could only plant a small piece of it. After so many years, I have forgotten all the time, but I know that the long yellow sand is covered with flowers and leaves that have never been seen before. One day I asked Changsheng: "Sanqi has not come back, would you like to live with me for a while?" The man, who only knew how to plant flowers in this land full of yellow sand, had become much duller. He didn't even raise his eyes: "She hasn't come back yet." Looking at the red flowers all over the field, his smart eyes jumped. : "It's boring after death, and this place is so desolate with all the flowers all over the mountains and plains." Without hearing the man's answer, he turned around and left, returned to the smelly river but had a bonfire, found an empty seat, smoothed his non-existent skirt and sat on the floor. ——Tang Yuqiu's Notes