The audience is like a mountain lost between them, and the world moves back and forth with her movements.
As bright as an archer shooting down the nine suns in the sky, as fast as an angel in front of a dragon's wings.
She began to be like a thunderbolt, venting its anger and ending the shining calm like rivers and seas.
But those red lips and pearl sleeves disappeared, and no one except this student smelled of her fame.
This beautiful woman from Linying, White God Town, still dances and sings happily.
When we answer each other's questions, we sigh together and feel sad for the changes that have taken place.
There are 8,000 ladies-in-waiting in the harem, but none of them can dance short sword like Mrs. Sun.
Fifty years later, like the rotation of a palm, the voice of the royal family faintly came from the dusty cave.
The musicians in the pear orchard floated by like fog, and now one or two female musicians are trying to fascinate the cold sun.
There are adult-sized trees beside the emperor's golden tomb, and I seem to hear the grass creaking on the cliff in Qutang.
Tears of joy, sorrow rises with the oriental moon, turns a thousand times, and finally bends.
And I, a poor old man, don't know where to go. I must sharpen my feet towards illness and despair on a lonely mountain.