Shao my source deep in the mountains, dense bamboo million in full storm. From the foot of a yellow sand, but no gentleman four years of business. The night comes a dream of Jiashan, Chui Yun Cang still remain dry. To not feel like Fu Fu, who pass their days for me. East desolate cold of winter visitors, leaving no trace of meaning in the matter. Pro-Western state of knowledge then Sun, written a few thousand feet in cold tip. Care for me, less good lie ills, Helen, then roll the wind sent walls of Ling. Biduan beauty wins day Coincidentally, both the business and my chest infinite. Seeing the two next strange high balcony, son of Mei Shun-yuan of new bamboo. Both for the dong after the first, the nightly Bai Guan hut.