The Foolish Country Doctor’s Run of Peach Blossom Luck

Riding the winds for thousands of miles, I return alone to the Eastern Sea, carrying the thunder of spring. How can I bear to see the paintings fade, how can I allow my land to be reduced to ashes? Turbid wine cannot wash away my tears of sorrow for my country; saving the times depends on outstanding talents. I will risk the blood of ten thousand heads to turn the tide of fate.

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