Shen Wei's singing voice was like the gentle spring water of March, but suddenly it was tainted by filth; it was like the blooming lotus in a summer pond, abruptly bitten and torn by a toad; it resembled the birds on autumn branches preparing to fly south, only to be struck down by a hunter's arrow; or the red plum blossoms of winter, crushed under the weight of snow, never to rise again.
The mountains split open as if struck by an earthquake, the great river burst its banks from a torrential downpour, a bolt of lightning cracked the clear sky, and the heavens and earth seemed to collapse amidst wailing ghosts and howling wolves.
After singing a dozen lines, Shen Wei finally stopped with confidence, her large eyes gleaming brightly: "Did it sound good?"
Cai Lian and Cai Ping exchanged silent glances.
How could they tactfully remind their mistress that her singing was... less than pleasant?
