The fog is thick and the clouds are light, and it will always be sad. The brain sells golden beasts.

The festival is also a double ninth festival, and the jade pillow gauze kitchen is half cold at night.

Dongli drinks until dusk, and faint chrysanthemum fragrance overflows his sleeves.

Don't say clear autumn is not a person, the west wind rolls the flag and beads curtain, and the person in the curtain is thinner than that Huang Ju.

I wonder if this is appropriate?