The spring rain is continuous, swaying in the mountains, rivers, and fields, sprinkling all the windows and rafters outside the house. The gloomy remnants of winter were blown away by the raindrops of spring. The soft willow shoots are adorned with green leaves, and the goose yellow welcoming spring buds are the first to bloom and nurture for a winter, unwilling to fall behind. The land that has turned green is filled with a joyful fragrance, even the old and dilapidated alleys are vividly filled with the smile of spring. Many shops in the alley are being renovated, making a lot of noise. Even at night, a few more lights have been added, making the alley as lively as daylight. The quiet night is no longer peaceful, and the added clutter makes people feel unfamiliar. The alley has started its brand new year again. The rain has been intermittent and pitter patter for many days. Moisture and dampness rush in, making my heart warm. Oh, the footsteps of spring have entered the threshold of your home.

The ancient alleyway and smooth stone paved road have been washed clean by rainwater. Although the green and grey tiles and rafters always give people a feeling of falling, with the increase of spring rain, the red, green and green figures sway into a quaint and trendy spring.

My compatriots also hope to see my portrait, so I request all printing owners in this regard to generously waive their rights; I also request readers who are too enthusiastic about celebrities of all sizes and have hidden my portrait, to immediately destroy it after reading these few lines of my words, especially since it is poorly made and does not look like me. They should buy another portrait with the words' Yardanov engraving 'printed on it. At least this is what is fair. And it would be even more just if the rich people would buy a "Christ transfiguration" with the money for my portrait, because the latter is recognized as the laurel in the engraving industry and the glory of Russia even in the eyes of foreigners.

After my death, this will should be published in various newspapers as soon as possible to prevent anyone from becoming my innocent criminal and feeling guilty for not reading it in time.

A will is the final monologue of a person's life. Gogol's life is worth pondering, as he left behind valuable spiritual wealth for future generations. Even his "will" embodies his steadfast beliefs and cynical personality traits. It can be seen that the wisdom of great men is infinite, and their influence is even more endless.

I am a flower, experiencing the test of winter, accepting the instructions of spring, and living a carefree summer.

With a faint floral fragrance, I welcome the upcoming autumn. I thought the fragrance in the sky was my capital worth flaunting, but I was wrong.

At some point, the sky became even higher and clearer, and the swallows chasing the sunshine flew south in beautiful arcs; I don't know when, but the lotus pond under the moon has become more elegant and peaceful, no longer disturbed by the sound of frogs and cicadas, and the lingering fragrance of lotus still lingers in my dreams; I don't know when, but the light breeze shuttling through the forest has become desolate, accompanied by golden fallen leaves fluttering and dancing

Sitting on a swaying chair in this beautiful season. Time flies, the dawn of deep autumn flows onto my ridiculous duckbill hat. Holding a cup of fragrant tea in my hand, I quietly gazed out the window at the beautiful natural scenery.

In the distance came the loud rustling of the wind, like rolling river water. Guide me to drift with the wind

Riding on the wind, memories of the past quietly bloom like flowers, emitting waves of warm Yuqing. The west wind is gentle, the white birch trees are silent and speechless, the autumn wind is rustling all over the courtyard, and the cold stamens and fragrant butterflies are hard to come. Loneliness wanders by, youth stops in the midst of the woods. The chirping of birds and the fragrance of flowers make the dim haze fade away.

Looking for new encounters, I hid in a corner of the classroom. Seeing the bumpy bonds of time, my call to life has brought me back into the memories of autumn. When the sun no longer shines, this autumn and that spring are warm

The red leaves of Si Yi Yi hide the graceful drifting. Prosperous youth like a horse, and the changing years of hardship. The past may have vanished into thin air, whose bagpipes are still depicting the sadness of the past?