The trader is a lover of landscape paintings, and he has painted us a few mountains, probably of karst topography. It reminds me of an ancient poem:
Across a thousand mountains, birds no longer fly On ten thousand paths, no trace of people An old man in a straw raincoat and hat in a lonely boat Fishing alone in the cold river snow
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The trader is a lover of landscape paintings, and he has painted us a few mountains, probably of karst topography. It reminds me of an ancient poem:
Across a thousand mountains, birds no longer fly
On ten thousand paths, no trace of people
An old man in a straw raincoat and hat in a lonely boat
Fishing alone in the cold river snow