There are several houses deep in the willow smoke, carrying wine and walking slowly in the apricot rain. Even while drunk and singing slowly, I still laugh, and the city is full of flowers in a spring of dreams.
It's early March in the south of the Yangtze River. The rain is slanting, and the paths and sandy roads are dusty. They are all enveloped in the light yellow and tender green willow smoke, exuding the fresh and moist fragrance of earth. From time to time, you can see a few peach blossoms, which are bright red. The grass between the cottages is green, and large apricot flowers are planted in front and behind the houses, which are especially beautiful in the rain. The sound of horse hooves gradually came from the trail, and a burst of high and low singing floated over with the sound of hooves, "Since I take my heart as a form of service, I am ridiculed and sad alone, I realize that I have gone past without admonishment, and I know that I can pursue those who come..." The song is clear and distant, but it drags out into tune, and is mixed with intermittent laughter. The voice gradually came closer. It was a young man in his twenties, dressed as a scholar, wearing a white plain shirt, riding a thin horse, without an umbrella. His clothes were soaked by the rain, and his sideburns were scattered on his face. There was a huge wine gourd hanging on the horse behind him. One hand was holding the reins loosely, and the other hand was shaking a wild flower that had climbed from nowhere. It looked like he was half drunk, and he was swaying on the horse with the gourd.
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