The long years, the long journey, all the past, are the gifts of the years. It is like a thousand years of bamboo sea, ten thousand years of rivers and lakes, and this quietly passing sun, moon and yin. Every one is willing to be entangled with pen and ink

The long years, the long journey, all the past, are the gifts of the years. It is like a thousand years of bamboo sea, ten thousand years of rivers and lakes, and this quietly passing sun, moon and yin. Everyone who is willing to linger with pen and ink is always willing to dance solo with his own joy. The bittersweet and bittersweet of life, the joys and sorrows of life, can all be lightly written down and strive to live poetically in a corner of mortal dust.