There is a tall building in the northwest, and the top is even with the floating clouds.
There are sparse and beautiful windows, and the pavilion has three levels.
There is singing on the strings, how sad is the sound!
Who can make this song? Wu is Qiliang's wife.
The Qing Dynasty businessmen followed the wind, and the middle tune was wandering.
Sighing over and over again, generosity is left with sadness.
I don't care about the pain of the singer, but I regret that the sound of my close friend is rare.
May I be a pair of swans and fly high.
The pavilions and pavilions of that year, toasting to the moon, are still unforgettable even after many years.
The broken strings and incomplete music of that year, the drunken wine and solitary tears, even if my hair is covered with frost, it still hurts my heart.
This song, without you, would be impossible to tune.