The lake's heart is watching the snow.

Ming!

In December of five years, Zong Zheng left West Lake. Three days of snow, the lake is full of humans. It's time for the sun to change, with a small canoe full of clothes and fire, to look at the snow in the lake's heart. Fog, and heaven and clouds and mountains and water, and whiteness. The shadows of the lake are only a long embankment, a little bit of the lake's heart, and a mustard with the rest of the ship, two or three of them.

On the pavilion, two men sat in pairs and a boy's brewer was boiling. See the great joy: "This man is more in the lake!" I'll drink three whites. Ask for his last name, the Golden Mahal, the guest. And get off the boat, and the boat murmurs, "Don't talk like a man, more like a man."