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West from the small hill for one hundred and twenty steps, beyond the bamboo grove, I heard the sound of water, like the tinkling of jade pendants, which gladdened my heart. I cut through the bamboo to make a path, and descending, I saw a small pond, the water exceptionally clear and cold. The…
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— Zhang Ji The River Xiang unruffled in autumn looks wide; The wayfarer at moonset leaves the riverside. We see wayfarers come, we see wayfarers go. Over white duckweed partridges fly to and fro.