Born in the West Mountains, often living in the East Valley, haunted all the time. In front of the dead tree rock, on the banks of the spring stream, hungry and thirsty, full of warmth. A long-term, brave life, walk into the jungle Wanmu Pi. Who knows, but none

Born in the West Mountains, often living in the East Valley, haunted all the time.

Towards the dead tree rock, by the fountain stream,

Hungry and thirsty, full and warm.

A long-term, brave life, walk into the jungle Wanmu Pi.

Who knows, but carefree, cut off the fox doubt.

Wait for idle to raise your eyebrows. There are thousands of miles of wind and eight sides of the might.

Self-treading leaves patrol the mountains, do not leave the Yuan,

One spirit is not ignorant, and a hundred beasts take refuge.

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