Climbing mountains, we envy not the cranes in the clouds; wading rivers, we miss not the willows on the banks. Past dust is brewed into aged wine, and along the coming road we plant the cherries of April.
The biting wind howls, wrapping the world in a mantle of silver, vast and indistinct. Snowflakes flutter down leisurely from beyond the highest heavens, resembling jade blossoms and glittering dust scattered by fairy maidens, dressing the earth with exceptional charm. Mountains, rivers, and cottages are all blanketed in white, and all things in the world return to stillness and purity.
The distant mountains resemble dark eyebrows, wreathed in mist, looking all the more majestic against the backdrop of snow. The branches of the forest trees are hung with crystal-clear icicles, flashing with dazzling light like jade trees with jade boughs, a sight of incomparable beauty. At the foot of the mountain, a small stream murmurs past, its surface covered with a thin layer of ice. Occasionally, a few snowflakes fall upon it, melting instantly into a trace of chill that refreshes the spirit.
Chapter 117