Humans lived for a lifetime, and the grass and trees fell in autumn.
Half of one's life was in dire straits. It was hard and lonely.
Who in the world didn't suffer?
The winter bamboo shoots broke through the soil and transformed into butterflies. The pine trees grew into cliffs, and the geese flew from north to south.
Although one's life was short, one could be impassioned.
Since one was born as a human and held a brush in his hand, why couldn't he write for tens of thousands of years?
"One must be worthy of history. Hehe, cultivate the heart, cultivate the heart. So what we really want is to cultivate a sincere, righteous heart!"
Someone on the immortal ship shouted.
Up and down the river, countless Confucian cultivators were either moaning or laughing. The Spiritual Qi and Great Spirit in their bodies condensed into a long dragon that spiraled and circulated.
