Along the bank of the Yellow River, I stepped on the loess with bare feet, searching step by step for the legendary footprints. Five thousand years of impact, five thousand years of accumulation, five thousand years of stormy years, five thousand years of heroic pride! Heavy, on this magical yellow land, the cry of the East is heard; softly, with the clearest and most affectionate tune, the civilization of the ancient country is sung. Standing on the snow-covered plateau, I looked towards the direction of the rising sun and asked again and again about the inner meaning of Nuwa's mending of the sky. From the dark clouds to the bright sky, from the long night to the bright sky, we crossed the mountains and the sea, we split the weeds and thorns, we used our bodies to hold up the backbone of the mountains, we exchanged our blood for the renewal of everything! When a voice echoes in the sky, when the five-star red flag flutters in Tiananmen Square, ah, motherland, you are my boiling blood, you are my stirring heart! Following the Yangtze River for thousands of miles, I have an innocent infatuation, exploring again and again, exploring the depth and purity of the truth. There have been ups and downs, there have been hesitations; there have been setbacks, there have been wanderings. Let it ebb and flow, and have your own mind! What is broadness and profundity? What are sentiments and conduct? What is noble and humble? What is faith and confidence? See the big waves washing over the sand, hundreds of boats vying for the current, listen to the roar of gongs and drums, and the neighing of war horses! Ah, motherland, I would like to be a child in your arms, even if it lasts for thousands of years, I will never change my heart!