I rushed through the misty rains of Jiangnan in March, and an apricot flower that jumped onto the wall, the misty and misty in the misty rain, the awning boat under the night berth and the bells lingering in the night, like the sweetheart. The softest eyebrows, the prodigal hero, should also sway under her pomegranate skirt. I also traveled through the long yellow sands of Northwestern October, looking at the innocent Gobi Desert, the silvery melted snow in the sun, and the long red willows and the often cut skirts. The camel thorns of the horns, the camel bells turn around, the vastness of the hustle and bustle, a beautiful song of water and sand.