The butter, the salted duck egg

Heart blue-handed private foods -- the golden, yellow autumn, a season of prosperity and depression. Autumn colours, grapes, sorghumous reds, cotton whites, maple oranges ... I love only the golden yellow, lumbering rice — the crystal of life; the gorgeous asymptomies — the beauty of oranges' fury; the falling leaves of the flying dance — the sorrow of the passing of Shassers; the insolent grass — the moaning of the silhouette — or the fury of anger or loss — are all life experiences. This is the beauty of the past, which belonged only to the relatives of the Emperor, and of the past, to the people of the plains, who were lonely in the rivers of history, and the enjoyment of the few, which allowed her to grow deep and radiant. Now that we are integrated into our lives, we can enjoy her elegance and her great taste. Gold and yellow, a form of life. From the golden light of the sun to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, and to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, and to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, to the sun, and to the sun. The thick yellow, silent witness to the beginning, the growth, the abundance and the decline of life, the joy of the life of all, and the joy of the dust that rolls over... The golden yellow, the indignant walk of days and years, and the quietness of words, leave you and I to hear the moving heart of her. And thou art in the rivers of life, of gold and yellow, smouldering, or despairing, or rejoicing, or disheartening, or tenderness, or dimness, that which cannot be removed, which is deeply embedded in thee and in the soul, and is not divided. The Yellow River, the River of Life in Huasha, the Water of the World, from the clear and euphemisms of the upper part of the world to the grooves of the middle part, to the wonders of the land. The legend of the Wall Jumping Dragon Gate belongs to you, the wind is roaring, the horses are roaring, and the Yellow River is roaring only to you. This is a river of hate for life, which breeds the plains of closure of the "Mounty River Valley, with great power of genius" — the beauty and warmth of the "growling grass, breeding beasts" described in Monkoy — and the anger and terror of the "Glory 23, the Yellow River rises up, fertilizing the sun and carrying Manga Beach." In the long history of life and death, there is always a return... You've been free ever since. But we have changed you too much today, a bridge across the river, a dam to stop it, and this rising stream is looking at us with unhappiness ... The yellow earth, 100 feet thick, rich in minerals, suitable for cultivation, breeding ancient civilizations, high and low, wide and wide. You're so rich, I can still imagine a beautiful scene. Unfortunately, you've changed for food. And from being strong and handsome, you became a young man of late age. Those gutters are your creases. The yellow sand of the sky is a good reminder of the past. The disappearance of a prairie and a forest, the widening of a ditch and a deep valley, and the silentness of this pale plain... Our skin is yellow, our nation is yellow, our roads are yellow. Life is in fact a circle of gradual detour or proliferation, painted on the dusty ground. We walk alone on the path of life, so desperate. Longing for wealth, for respect, for happiness. It's not my vision, it's our life to be warm. It all seems to have something to do with that gold. And wealth, and the temptation of gold. Respect, orange sun. Happiness, gorgeous light. We are tired of chasing, we are hungry, we are hungry, we have given up too much under the pretext of paying for what we can gain ... What is the weight of fish and bears, principles and wealth? And as we pursue it, we have also slowly changed, we have become cooler, we have become absconded, we have become snobs, we have become... we have hurt and been hurt, we have surrounded our lives. The bitterness, the groaning and the torment between the gain and the loss of life come all the way, the dream of life, the awakening of the dream, a yellow earth, a period of silence forever, written on the earth. Out of yellow soil, to which they have returned, they have taken nothing, and left nothing behind. We are no more than a passer-by of time. We are in the dust, and we plan to fight. Listen to the rain in the still night, for the soul. Gains and losses are really hard to choose in the face of the current realities; gains and losses, in the middle of the night, are answers. I hope that my life is warm, like the golden daisies of the Arthur Autumn Wind, rather than the fragrance of the branch, and that the north wind is blowing! He who is proud, and is not born for five crumbs of rice, and who is not at ease with his will, and who has a heart of ice, a branch of pride, a self-respect, and no fear of loneliness. And when they die, they shall return to the yellow earth, and when they return, they shall be left with a light of light, and they shall become fertile land, and they shall seek anger in the Hereafter. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter. May this life be without regret, that I may cherish this golden and warm land upon which I stand, that I may love this environment, and that I may enjoy this life as I please, and that I may remain alone in my pride. Chu's heart is stale, drunk and mad。