The dusk drums are beating, and the sound of silk and bamboo strings on the Bian River outside Bianjing City is thick. When the pipa strings are turning fast, they are like pearls and jade falling on the plate, and when they are slow, they are like running water around stones. With the soft and charming voice of the singer, they are lingering and lingering around the sails. Suddenly, the sound of the strings stopped, and the aftertaste curled up in the evening breeze. The singers held the pipa to see the guests off to the ferry. There were lingering farewells on the shore, and people were leaving in the boat. As the boat drifted away, the capital city, which had been bustling all day, finally calmed down and sank into the early spring night.
