Winter in his writing is like this: thousands of mountains are covered with snow, and the bright moon is thin.

After the rain, in his writing, it is: After the new rain, the lotus beads on the collected leaves are boiled into wine, and the fragrance is strong.

Midnight in his writing is: the music is tired, the lamp is broken, and the stars scatter themselves.

The moon over the river in his writing is like this: the moonlight pours into the water, the river waves swallow it up, the dew air sucks it in, and the sky turns white.

The residence in his writings is as follows: outside the door, the pines look proudly, and there are miscellaneous trees, and the vast expanse of cold green leaves no human face.

The pavilions in his paintings are as follows: in front and behind the pavilion, the trees are all hugging each other, and the clear water is light and misty, and the shadows are like autumn water.

Music in his writings is: mixed silk and bamboo, used to promote clear sounds; moving the strings to make the mountains ring.

The delicacies in his writings are: jade beads and gum, snowy and creamy, blowing the air to win orchids, refreshing the soul, and a natural offering from heaven. In the hot weather of June, the persimmons are as big as melons, as crisp as chewing ice and chewing snow, and the eyes are bright.

He wrote about the spring outing: The peach and willow trees were in full bloom, and the tourists sat on the ground, drinking and singing.

He wrote about relieving the heat in summer: We went on a boat and slept soundly among ten miles of lotus flowers. The fragrance was overwhelming, and our dreams were very pleasant.