The sky connects with the cloud waves, merging with the morning mist, as the Milky Way turns and a thousand sails dance. It seems as if my dream soul has returned to the emperor's abode. Hearing the heavenly voice, it earnestly asks me where I am returning to.

I report the long road and sigh at the setting sun, learning poetry but only having astonishing verses in vain. A roc is soaring with nine thousand miles of wind. The wind must not cease, as the thatched boat is blown towards the three mountains

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