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At noon, the lead-gray streets were turned into a thin rope by the hot sunshine, lying limply against the edge of the town. The pedestrians on the street gradually dispersed, and the old lady selling fried jelly took a nap under the elm tree on the street. A long and narrow room on the street is "Hu Ji Suoxing". At this time, the owner Lao Hu was playing his erhu leisurely, with his eyes slightly closed, and sang along with the loud and thick music: I drank a bowl of wine before leaving, and I was full of courage. Hatoyama hosted a banquet to make friends with me and entertained me with thousands of cups and cups. The wood of the erhu is authentic huanghuali wood. It has been polished and smooth by time in Lao Hu's arms, and it has accumulated a quiet luster over time.

Wandering in the world, it has experienced many vicissitudes of life. Ups and downs, depending on the difference of a thought; stillness and movement, within a square inch. If I get it, I'm lucky; if I don't get it, it's my fate. No matter how strong the human hand is, it cannot be stronger than the pusher of destiny. Thus, there is the story of Wang Zhongliang, who was promoted to Xiaomin. Wangfujing Street is very lively in the evening. Anyone who travels to Beijing will make the last stop of their trip to this place to watch the excitement, catch up on something new, or pick out one or two satisfying gifts for their family, which can be regarded as a souvenir of their visit to the capital city of Beijing. Wang Zhongliang was walking on the street with the dense crowd. This man who was almost forty years old still looked high-spirited. His thick eyebrows and high bridge of nose showed his sharp and cold handsomeness. There was a pair of thin gold-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose, which gave him a rare scholarly atmosphere.