In the autumn of Renxu, in the seventh month of the month, Su Zi and the guest were paddling under the red cliffs. The breeze is coming, and the water waves are not happy. Wine is a guest, recite the poem of the bright moon, and sing the chapter of slenderness. Shaoyan, the moon rises above the east mountain, wandering among the bullfights. White dew across the river, water and light meet the sky. Even if a reed was like that, Ling Wanqing was at a loss. Haohao is like Feng Xu controlling the wind, but he doesn't know where it ends; Piao Piao is like being independent from the world, emerging and ascending to immortals.

So he drank and sang happily. The song said: "Gui Zhao comes to the blue paddle, strikes the sky and sees the light of the stream. It is small and beautiful, and I look at the beauty in the sky." There are people who play the dongxiao, and they rely on the song to make peace. Its voice is humming, like resentment, like admiration, like weeping, like complaining, and the reverberation is curling, and it is like a thread. A submerged dragon dancing in a ravine, a concubine weeping in a lonely boat.

Su Zi was stunned, sat upright and asked the guest, "Why is it so?" The guest said, "The moon and the stars are rare, and the magpies fly south. This is not a poem by Cao Mengde? Looking at Xiakou in the west, Wuchang in the east, and mountains and rivers. Miao, you are in the dark, is this not the man who was trapped in Zhou Lang by Meng De? Fang Qi broke through Jingzhou, went down to Jiangling, and flowed to the east, traveling a thousand miles, with flags and flags obscuring the sky, drinking wine near the river, and composing poetry. I have been the hero of the first generation, and now I am safe? Besides, I and my son Yuqiao are on the Jiangzhu, and we are friends with fish and shrimps, and we are friends with deer. We ride a small boat with a leaf, and hold a bottle to belong to each other. Sending mayflies to the sky and the sea is like a vast sea. A drop of grain.