In the hall, people were drinking wine, singing and singing, men's laughter mixed with women's smiles, making the brightly lit hall lively.
The golden and jade beaded curtain swayed gently, and from behind the curtain came the melodious sound of pipa and the clear singing voice of a woman:
May I ask how sad spring is? The mist locks the boudoir, and the melancholy flowers weep with dew.
The wind fades and the fragrance of the red dust lingers, where is the spring in Yiyi's dream?
The song ends on the pipa strings, the dream breaks across the Yangtze River, and the two swallows fly away separately
The flowers on the temples look caressingly at me, and I am lonely morning and evening.
The singing voice is gentle and lingering, the sound of the piano is like snow falling in a deep stream, and each word seems to be whispering in people's ears. It is endlessly gentle and charming, and the soft words are gentle, with an indescribable charm.
Everyone in the hall was enjoying themselves to the fullest, and no one could hear the sadness and sorrow hidden in the singing. They were only interested in this woman's appearance and figure, as long as she was a beauty.
After the song was over, several guests began to applaud. Among them was a male guest, about forty years old, with a bloated figure, especially a pair of mouse eyes, and a face like a pie, which made him say no.
Weird
He cupped his hands towards the man in the middle, smiled, and said in an extremely flattering manner: "I didn't expect that there would be such a woman in the king's palace. I wonder if you can let her come out so that we can see her beauty?"
The man sitting in the middle is about fifty years old. He has a long beard and a bright yellow robe embroidered with golden dragons. He is the king of the Golden City. If he laughs, his white beard and gloomy face are covered with
Smiling, he said: "It doesn't matter, I will let her come out and toast everyone in red. Why don't you come out quickly and toast to all the adults?"
The bead curtain rolled up gently, and a woman in white clothes came up with a pipa in her arms.
Her black hair was tied into a high bun, with a simple and elegant hairpin, and a light white chrysanthemum pinned diagonally on her temples, making her world-famous appearance even more elegant and refined.
Her bangs cannot hide the bright red cinnabar mole between her eyebrows. Her eyes are like pear blossoms reflected in spring water, with a touch of sadness, and there is a mist-like sadness locked between her eyebrows.
She walked forward step by step, dragging her long white gauze skirt, and her whole body looked swaying. Although she did not apply any makeup, she was still as beautiful as a person walking out of a painting.
(Berlin’s new book, please support me, thank you)