Building lean empty, feel alive, I do not know where. Were misty, half-canopies stars, a window air dew. Yan Jing Ping teal sand at low tide, middle of the night angry dragon blackfish month. The clear bottles, laugh rest of his life alone, as it takes. Dust, the talk of high interest. Yan Bo, the title poem. This beauty enjoyable night, Juxiu wasted. Mengjue Huan love sweet like wax, old status Pickle such as vinegar. Cao children read, when North and South go, love Chaomu.