Getting your letter is like a treasure dug into the ground, as rare and as precious.

Reading your letter is like reading an ancient monument, the surface is vague, but the meaning is profound.

It is like in the dark night beside the Nile, when the moon was shining on the pyramids, I dreamed of an emperor in a golden robe, who asked me a riddle, I knew what he meant, and he said, "I am nothing but a decent mummy. ."

It's like when I woke up in the middle of the night at the foot of this heavy mountain, and heard the pitiful and disgusting chirping of the nightingale's soprano in the pine forest. Although he doesn't have the gifted tongue of Zigui, I understand his grievances and his ideals. , his urgent tone is his ridicule and curse, I know how he despised everything, despised light, despised the arrogant chaffinch, and despised the self-pleasant thrush.

It’s like a wonder I found in Mount Putuo: it looks like a large rock from the outside, but the inside has long been eroded by the sea, leaving only a skull like the head of an Arhat. Every time Haitao hugs the island, It emits extremely mysterious sounds, like love words, like curses, like prayers, whimpering among the carved stalagmites and stalactites, like the harmonic sound of the Yamato echoes among the flower rafters and stone jacarandas of the ancient temple in Gaoxuege—— But unless you have the patience and courage to climb down a few weights of rock and lean down to watch and listen intently, you may never imagine, let alone discover, such a secret.

It's like... but I know, my friend, you've heard enough of my metaphors, maybe you'd rather hear my natural voice and unpretentious intonation than words wrapped in fancy foil, though, I can't If you don't add, you yourself love to play your eccentric tunes from a curved silver trumpet.

You said: "The wind is strong and the soil is strong, and life is dry." These words seemed to be a strange cool wind, which made me feel a terrifying trembling; tears.

In my memory, I seem confident, not without the color and aroma of wine, not without traces of a charming smile, I think I can always resist the influence of your gray tone - yes, yesterday afternoon I was in When I was walking in the fields, I didn't see clearly two ferocious black clouds vanishing in the fierce flame of the sun, five little goats, as white as rabbits, listening to their mother's orders to search for grass by the roadside to eat, three to mow. The grass child threw a sickle in front of a rice farm. The liveliness of nature gave me a lot of encouragement. I shouted to the pagoda standing in the white clouds that I know that life is interesting.

The sun did not come out today. Bundles of clouds were close to each other in the air, and your words happened to add a few more clouds, and I doubted my declaration from yesterday.

I also feel strange, my friend, why your words are like chalk on the glass in my heart. This translucent dullness is a very clever punishment, and I almost cry out in pain.

I looked out of my window, and there was no moon, no starlight, and no need to think about the sun. He had long since left, the dark woods over there, and the trees, I know, were Ye O’s residence, The trees are lined up in the darkness of the early night. I also know that it is a tomb. The rigid bones are buried in the hard mud, and the phosphorus fire does not see a single star. This kind of stillness, this kind of misery, the victory of the night is complete. .

I closed my eyes and asked in my spiritual house, ah, I can't find an image of a life free from dryness. Dryness is like a shadow, always following the foot of life, and like an onion tube of onion, always attached to Life's overhead, it's a wonder.

My friend, I'm sorry, I can't answer your words, although I really want to, I'm not a refreshing west wind that can't blow away the clouds in the sky, I only have a rough shovel in my hand, and a beautiful ideal or hope. To be buried, my work is ready - and I have had my experience.

My friend, I am afraid, in the end, I have to accept your influence, because your words have bitten into my heart ferociously, like a poisonous scorpion, have pressed down on my heart like a plate Shi, I can only endure, I can only endure...

Getting your letter is like a treasure dug into the ground, as rare and as precious.

Reading your letter is like reading an ancient monument, the surface is vague, but the meaning is profound.

It is like in the dark night beside the Nile, when the moon was shining on the pyramids, I dreamed of an emperor in a golden robe, who asked me a riddle, I knew what he meant, and he said, "I am nothing but a decent mummy. ."

It's like when I woke up in the middle of the night at the foot of this heavy mountain, and heard the pitiful and disgusting chirping of the nightingale's soprano in the pine forest. Although he doesn't have the gifted tongue of Zigui, I understand his grievances and his ideals. , his urgent tone is his ridicule and curse, I know how he despised everything, despised light, despised the arrogant chaffinch, and despised the self-pleasant thrush.

It’s like a wonder I found in Mount Putuo: it looks like a large rock from the outside, but the inside has long been eroded by the sea, leaving only a skull like the head of an Arhat. Every time Haitao hugs the island, It emits extremely mysterious sounds, like love words, like curses, like prayers, whimpering among the carved stalagmites and stalactites, like the harmonic sound of the Yamato echoes among the flower rafters and stone jacarandas of the ancient temple in Gaoxuege—— But unless you have the patience and courage to climb down a few weights of rock and lean down to watch and listen intently, you may never imagine, let alone discover, such a secret.

It's like... but I know, my friend, you've heard enough of my metaphors, maybe you'd rather hear my natural voice and unpretentious intonation than words wrapped in fancy foil, though, I can't If you don't add, you yourself love to play your eccentric tunes from a curved silver trumpet.

You said: "The wind is strong and the soil is strong, and life is dry." These words seemed to be a strange cool wind, which made me feel a terrifying trembling; tears.

In my memory, I seem confident, not without the color and aroma of wine, not without traces of a charming smile, I think I can always resist the influence of your gray tone - yes, yesterday afternoon I was in When I was walking in the fields, I didn't see clearly two ferocious black clouds vanishing in the fierce flame of the sun, five little goats, as white as rabbits, listening to their mother's orders to search for grass by the roadside to eat, three to mow. The grass child threw a sickle in front of a rice farm. The liveliness of nature gave me a lot of encouragement. I shouted to the pagoda standing in the white clouds that I know that life is interesting.

The sun did not come out today. Bundles of clouds were close to each other in the air, and your words happened to add a few more clouds, and I doubted my declaration from yesterday.

I also feel strange, my friend, why your words are like chalk on the glass in my heart. This translucent dullness is a very clever punishment, and I almost cry out in pain.

I looked out of my window, and there was no moon, no starlight, and no need to think about the sun. He had long since left, the dark woods over there, and the trees, I know, were Ye O’s residence, The trees are lined up in the darkness of the early night. I also know that it is a tomb. The rigid bones are buried in the hard mud, and the phosphorus fire does not see a single star. This kind of stillness, this kind of misery, the victory of the night is complete. .

I closed my eyes and asked in my spiritual house, ah, I can't find an image of a life free from dryness. Dryness is like a shadow, always following the foot of life, and like an onion tube of onion, always attached to Life's overhead, it's a wonder.

My friend, I'm sorry, I can't answer your words, although I really want to, I'm not a refreshing west wind that can't blow away the clouds in the sky, I only have a rough shovel in my hand, and a beautiful ideal or hope. To be buried, my work is ready - and I have had my experience.

My friend, I am afraid, in the end, I have to accept your influence, because your words have bitten into my heart ferociously, like a poisonous scorpion, have pressed down on my heart like a plate Shi, I can only endure, I can only endure...