A sigh of pity tells not all the affection; half a phrase 'my lord' cannot fully express the heartfelt love.
The night breeze skirts past the Hill of Three Springs; the sheer curtains ruffle, revealing a rich fragrance.
The stars just begin to recognize the full moon's mandarin ducks; the rain beats on plantain leaves, drenching the begonia flowers.
Behold the hibiscus-embroidered canopy; see those two pairs of boots.
Suddenly came a soft murmur, continuous as precious rain, followed by the sounds of whispers filled with playful resentment.
At one moment, the whispers were like pearls spat out by clams beside corals under the water. At another, everything turned tranquil, and the pearls then glided over fine silk, sinking into the quiet seabed covered with satin and delicate sand.
The sound was slow, slower than the ticking of passing time, slower than the faint crackling of the wooden bed's fibers gently breaking.
