Bauhinia whispering lonely light bridge stealing clouds. Who remembers that in this life, the world of mortals flies, the bridge is broken, and the residual snow is not changed? Think about mistakes (this is good, but only five words). Sit around the jade with a red rope and watch the moss. When the morning bell rings alone, the full moon is full, the sunset is blooming, the memory is dusty, the snow is boundless, and the flowers are silent. What do you think of personal preferences?