Manjiang red drunken east wind summer yi shan, drunken east wind, hazy night. According to the long pavilion, the sound of frog drums, the past is like a dream. Forty-three years of deep immersion, eight thousand miles of forgetting to return. You don't see, a few degrees of green mountains

Manjiang red drunk east wind

Xia Yi Shan Shan, drunk east wind, the night is hazy. According to the long pavilion, the sound of frog drums, the past is like a dream. Forty-three years of deep immersion, eight thousand miles of forgetting to return. You don't see, several degrees of green mountains and green, big river east.

The night rain is fierce and the morning fog is thick. Willow bank, the grass is blue, at the snap of your fingers, yesterday's lights became dreams. A cup of clear tea sacrifices the past, and a cup of cloudy wine honors the rest of your life. And Xu Xing, a thousand sails passed, listening to the sound of leaves.