The fame of a mountain is by an immortal in it, not by its height. The spirit of water is by a dragon in it, not by its depth. This is a humble house where I am the only person who regards the virtue as fragrance. Traces of lichens growing on steps show the green and a sight of green grass comes in through the screen. My laughter burst out in chatting with great knowledgeable people and the illiterate is barely among the associates. I can play an elegant melody on my plain zither and read Buddhist Scriptures in it where there is no music on the ear to be vexed and no official documents to fatigue my body. There had been Zhuge's thatched cottage in Nanyang and Zhiyun's pavilion in western Sichuan. Confucius said: "How could you consider it to be humble?"