A brief spring dream, facing the apricot pavilion and the orchid pavilion, a leaf leaves the sail.
I drank half a bottle of residual wine, pouring it over and feeling miserable.
The round lack of nineteen battles is like this, and the Yaojia and Qingjin are blown apart.
The wind strings of willows, cloud paper and crane pen, slender fingers and fragrant knots.
Miss Nujiao, do you remember Xianlun?
There is a friend who is a tired guest, and the heart of the piano is ice and snow.
In the eyes, rocks and waves pile up on the shore, and the tide rises and falls.
Who do you ask? Life is upright, but when will you give up on anger and ignorance?
Crazy and drunk, my body is still like the moon on the blue pool and the river.
Purpose: The virtue of the piano comes from human virtue, and the way of the piano is the way of heaven