Just change the ancient poem Qingming into a story of more than 200 words.

Today is Qingming Festival. I carried the sacrifices and walked towards my mother’s grave with heavy steps. At this time, it was drizzling in the sky. Maybe God was crying too.

Along the way, I saw many pedestrians who were as sad as me. Just when I was feeling depressed and having many thoughts, I couldn't help but shake a little and realized that I was already wet.

It happened that a shepherd boy came in front of him. He was wearing pink clothes and a bamboo hat, riding on the back of a cow. I quickly stepped forward and asked, "Brother, is there anyone in front of you?" Restaurant?" The shepherd boy tilted his head and smiled without answering, but pointed his little hand into the distance. I looked there along the little hand and saw Xinghua Village with wine flags fluttering.

After thanking the shepherd boy, he went to the hotel. After drinking a few glasses of wine, he became more poetic and wrote "Qingming": During the Qingming Festival, it rains heavily, and pedestrians on the road feel like they are dying. May I ask where the restaurant is? The shepherd boy points to Xinghua Village in the distance.