Pure land Pudacuo set off in the early morning, the plateau cold and bitter, and the star hanging outside the car window. Finally, entering Pudacuo, it was like stepping into the threshold outside the world, the genus Duhu was like a huge silver plate set with turquoise, lying quietly between fir forests. The morning mist was like solidified milk, and the lake and mountains were gently wrapped like Hada; the fir was like a silent sentry, and the shadow of the black shadow reflected in the clear water. The deeper the Militang grassland spread out at the foot, like a huge green carpet embroidered with wild flowers, thin and soft. The grass is holding the silver coins of dew, the green is full of water, and the fullness will drop. The Bita Sea is more deep, the lake is blue and green, floating in the mythical cuckoo drunk fish of the strange legend - azaleas petals fall on the lake, if a lake is brewed, fish drink slightly, float sway, in time to sink, like a dream. The scriptures were hunting in the wind, and for thousands of years, the wind and horse flags recited the unstoppable blessings for people over and over, as if even the grass and wood mountains and stones had heard this silent scripture. Once the people who had been trapped in the hustle and bustle of the city had stepped into this place, their hearts became a world of washed glass. Pudacuo has no place is not beautiful, no time is not quiet, nature is like an invisible hand, filtered out the dust, and we are a spiritual empty pure land. Tired, looking for a wooden house to rest, drinking a hot butter tea. The warm warmth quietly entered the heart from the throat, the tea aroma rose, it seemed to be wrapped in the breath of the snow-capped mountains in the distance, and the blue waves in the near place, and finally merged into the unique mellow taste of the plateau. The original natural comfort, after all, it must be slowly sunk into the depths of the soul through the body's perception. Build a fortress to resist the world's noise in silence.