Sima Qing gave the scholar a cold look, tore off a small piece of paper, wrote a few words, rolled it into a small egg roll, tied it to the pigeon's feet with a red rope, raised her hand, and the pigeon jumped up and opened its arms.
White wings fly to the clear blue and transparent blue sky.
We left behind the dancing and screaming scholars and walked for about fifteen minutes, and finally found the Yanyu Pavilion that the pawnshop owner mentioned.
It is indeed a mist and rain pavilion worthy of its name. It leaks both rain and smoke.
This is a huge three-story attic. Most of the tiles used to protect it from wind and rain have been removed. The roof is densely packed with holes. I don’t know whether it is because of its age or the erosion of rain. One side of the white wall has completely collapsed.
The loess was dyed yellow so that the porcelain pieces were standing alone, as if telling the story of the years; the three surviving walls, the plaster was peeled off in disarray, and they were not covered with small holes, as if they had experienced an experience not long ago.
It looked like a big gun battle, and gray-green moss even grew in some places; under the eaves, two palace lanterns with only their brackets left were swaying slightly and miserably. In the middle of the palace lanterns, a piece of it was washed out by the rain.
There is a white plaque with the three characters "Yanyu Pavilion" written on it. It is shaking "creepingly" and looks like it will fall down and hit someone at any time. The weeds in the yard have grown taller than me. Look.