A few years ago, there was a beautiful Gongsun who danced her dagger from all directions.
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 have passed, like the rotation of a palm, wind and dust filled the world and covered the imperial house.
The disciples in the pear garden scattered like smoke, and the rest of the women were happy to reflect the cold weather.
The golden millet piled nanmu has been arched, and the grass in Qutang Shicheng is bleak.
The song has been sung, the slow-string allegro has stopped, the joy is in full swing, the moon in the east rises, and the sadness follows.
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.