In seasons like this in previous years, I would listen to music in the warm pavilion on the second floor of Cuihu Building. There would be a small pot of charcoal fire in the left corner, slowly distributing heat and driving away the moisture.
Whenever I feel sleepy after singing a song, my dear girl will help me boil a pot of home-brewed wine, pour a cup and put it in front of the soft couch. Her voice is not too loud but not too quiet, just enough to make me open my eyes. Her thin clothes make her look graceful, ambiguous and charming.
What I like most is her slender waist, so fragile. The wine she boiled was also warm and suitable for sleeping, and she had a dreamless night.