Qixia Mountain, Nanjing / Late autumn and winter rain on the red leaves.

As autumn deepens, I always think of Qixia Mountain. Entering the mountain gate is like stepping into an ancient scroll, with the red leaves as the most vivid paint, spreading wantonly. The maple leaves seem to have drunk the wine brewed from autumn frost, turning a drunken red. The wind blows, rustling, as if whispering about the past. The ancient temple of the Six Dynasties is hidden among them, with yellow walls and black tiles, curling smoke, and red maples, exuding a peaceful tranquility.