Around the fence to find Ju Ju still late, not muddy homes North hibiscus. Kwei is the hill, the night of Fantasy Piaozhui. Bound slave soldiers, Dinning little children, Mo sweep moss build. Wind Gull cold, dead suspect the opposite direction. Off-load the wine had I, Lang Yin Hermit, washed Autumn meaning. Palace of the poor white hair long like lice, God has just been molested. Over and over heaps of gold, full of empty rain millet, Yuanming bad thing. Fu Ying residue left, Ming still be the same drunk.