Su Shi wrote a poem to Huicong's painting "Night View of the Spring River": "There are three or two peach blossoms outside the bamboo, and the spring river plumbing the duck prophet." Huicong was a great painter in the Northern Song Dynasty. He painted geese, geese and egrets, especially Gong Xiaojing. Ting Yuanzhu, the unrestrained and empty image. "Night Scenery of the Spring River" no longer exists, but Su Shi's poems have preserved this spring in the form of words. When I read this poem when I was a child, although I swallowed the dates wholeheartedly, I shook my head and closed my eyes while chanting. On the edge of the dam and weir, there is a family with a large bamboo forest outside the wall, which is quite dense, and occasionally a few peach trees. During the spring equinox, the snow on the bamboo has melted away, the soil is wet to black, and the bamboo leaves are green to black, like a splashed ink painting. The peach blossoms are blooming, sparse, with powder, embellishing the branches. Inside the dam and weir on one side, the ice layer on the water surface has receded, and the water is also green, green and dignified, like a piece of rough jade. I don't know who's ducks, in groups of three or five, flapped their wings on the embankment of the dam, and then stepped on the green mud, eager to try it by the water. Just like the beauty in the bath, they also test the water temperature first, swirl their hands on their shoulders and chest, make a jolt, and then go in a little bit. The water in the dam and weir, a little bit cold and warm, is really a duck prophet.

Su Shi wrote a poem to Huicong's painting "Night View of the Spring River": "There are three or two peach blossoms outside the bamboo, and the spring river plumbing the duck prophet." Huicong was a great painter in the Northern Song Dynasty. He painted geese, geese and egrets, especially Gong Xiaojing. Ting Yuanzhu, the unrestrained and empty image. "Night Scenery of the Spring River" no longer exists, but Su Shi's poems have preserved this spring in the form of words. When I read this poem when I was a child, although I swallowed the dates wholeheartedly, I shook my head and closed my eyes while chanting. On the edge of the dam and weir, there is a family with a large bamboo forest outside the wall, which is quite dense, and occasionally a few peach trees. During the spring equinox, the snow on the bamboo has melted away, the soil is wet to black, and the bamboo leaves are green to black, like a splashed ink painting. The peach blossoms are blooming, sparse, with powder, embellishing the branches. Inside the dam and weir on one side, the ice layer on the water surface has receded, and the water is also green, green and dignified, like a piece of rough jade. I don't know who's ducks, in groups of three or five, flapped their wings on the embankment of the dam, and then stepped on the green mud, eager to try it by the water. Just like the beauty in the bath, they also test the water temperature first, swirl their hands on their shoulders and chest, make a jolt, and then go in a little bit. The water in the dam and weir, a little bit cold and warm, is really a duck prophet.