Just like a pair of close children whispering, I had a dark conversation with two beautiful friends, the secretary.

Like the wind, who is singing the flag? A soldier likes to fight the king with his sword.

Eee logo turned into a floating cloud, you don't have to wander around the endless road.

There were hundreds of birds, and suddenly I saw a lonely phoenix.

The cliffs pressed people to climb, and the dark valley collapsed under the thunderous sound of collapse.

I am ashamed that I have a pair of ears and a pair of music. I am too ignorant to appreciate music.

Listening to your music, the piano suddenly rose, making people sit down low.

In the panic, I reached out to block my chin, and tears had already poured into my eyes.

Ying's son is sincere, there is no way to put ice charcoal in my intestines!

Li Pingluo cited Li He.

Wu Si, Shu and Zhang Tong are in high autumn, and the empty mountains are not flowing.

Jiang Yue wept for Motome's sadness, while Ping Li was playing China.

Kunshan jade broken Fengming, hibiscus crying, Xianglan laughing.

The cold light melts in front of the twelve gates, and the twenty-three silk moves the purple emperor.

Nu Wa makes up the sky by refining stones, and the stones break the ground to stir up the autumn rain.

Dream into the holy mountain to teach the gods, and the old fish dance with the waves.

Wu Mian leans against the laurel tree, showing his feet and flying obliquely to wet cold rabbits.

Pipa line Bai Juyi (excerpt from the chapter describing music)

... she turned the tuning pin and tested several strings, and even before she played, we could feel her feelings.

Every string is a kind of meditation, and every note is a kind of deep thinking, as if she were telling us the pain of her life.

She frowned, bent her fingers, and then started her music, letting her heart share everything with us bit by bit.

She brushes the strings, twists them slowly, sweeps them, plucks them, and then "dresses up" and "has a green waist".

Big strings hum like rain, and small strings whisper like secrets.

Humming, whispering-and then mixing together, like pouring large and small pearls into a plate of jade.

Between Guan Ying's words, the bottom of the flower is slippery, so you can't swallow the spring scenery and flow under the ice. We heard a stream sobbing painfully along the beach.

The ice spring is cold and astringent, and the strings condense, and the condensation will never stop.

The depth of sadness and the hiding of sadness are more told in silence than in voice.

A silver vase suddenly burst, pouring out a stream of water, jumping out of the conflict and blow between armored horses and weapons.

Before she put down the pick, her stroke was over, and all four strings made a sound, just like tearing silk.

The east ship was silent, and the west ship was silent. We saw the white autumn moon entering the river.