The entrance of the saloon on the 1st floor.
The long branches on the side of the bridge hang in a string,
Solanum nigrum, Ryan followed Croton to get off,
Watching the outside world carefully,
Can' t tell which is a flower and which
crystal clear,
into the stream,
The grass that just sticks its head out,
look around,
danced lightly,
The flowers are fragrant, the petals are fluttering,
attracted a dazzling group of butterflies,
Pieces of green in different shades,
As if singing the symphony of spring,
There is a small stream beside the lotus pond,
Naughty blowing little bubbles,
The evening breeze mixed with the smell of hot soup,
Bend it now and then,
arter of an hour,
The moon shadow casts infinite silver threads,
There is a bridge over the creek,
Underwater small fish swaying gracefully,
looming, smoky,
like a mirage,
The sound of rushing water is clear and pleasant,
Like patches of green misty ocean,
The flowers follow the breeze,
The stream is microwaved,
The houses in the distance are misty and smoky,
sometimes lift it up,
The wind caressed all kinds of flowers and plants by the stream,
He bent slightly, and at the same time whispered: Welcome,
like a paradise on earth,
The mountains are rolling up and down,
As if the earth was breathing rhythmically,
Standing in the left and right rows of realistic robots wearing maid costumes,