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Baoqin clearly remembers that that year, when she was six years old, she was taken by her old servant Ning's mother to the south of the Yangtze River to learn skills from a teacher. That day, there was a characteristic drizzle in the south of the Yangtze River. Baoqin leaned against the cabin of the awning, letting the silky raindrops slide down her cheeks lightly and silently. Through the irregular window in the bulkhead, Baoqin saw the scenery of the south of the Yangtze River for the first time: thin and continuous ripples in the water; short-legged birds standing proudly on the roof tile tips; hidden under the colorful oil-paper umbrellas, walking faintly in red sleeves... It is really like the elegant and solemn strokes of a painter, how can one be so intoxicated? After crossing the round half-moon-shaped stone arch bridge, we paddled to the shore. Arrived, arrived. Baoqin stepped on the wet and greasy boat planks, looking up at the three big characters on the plaque - Youxuezhai. "What a good name!" Baoqin murmured.