In My Rebirth, I Want to Win the Championship

The rhythm is quite comfortable, please update more

Boss, he is very powerful and cleared all my recommendation votes.

I will support you as the new king

I hope I can stick to it and the more I write down my results, the better.

How to put it, it's hard to say, hard to say, so I'd better not say it 🙂

Xiao Sai. . . I thought I was not worthy of comparison with anyone. .

I am currently in a situation where I am half pursuing books and half raising books. Let me share my humble opinion. Can you add some pictures to the description of the music? For example, the following person described this based on the interpretation of the music "Epilogue" by the grandma of station B, Poseidon with a Bow. (There is a prelude before the piano sounds, but I really don't know what instrument is played, please forgive my lack of music knowledge) The piano sounded first. The single note falls gently on the key, like fingertips touching the calm lake surface, creating a circle of very faint ripples - not a noisy opening, but quietly holding the hand of hearing, pulling people into the story bit by bit. When the keys fell again, the tone was as soft as a layer of mist, and even the breathing slowed down, as if you could see it with your eyes closed: the dome of the castle gradually appeared in the dark, and the carved pillars were still immersed in the dusk, just waiting for the sound of the piano to take another step. It wasn't until the last notes of the piano were still hanging in the air that the crystal lantern turned on. The diamond-like light spots did not come out all at once, but followed the arc of the piano sound, slowly flowing along the dome, first lighting up the edge of a lamp, then spreading over the adjacent one, and finally covering the entire stone wall of the castle. Only at this moment did I realize that it was not the lights that were on, but the sound of the piano that "led" the light out, and even the shadows in the stone gaps were covered with the warmth of the piano keys. Then the sound of the violin came. The moment the bow brushed against the strings, it just caught the remaining half of the piano's tune, and a solitary and soft voice came out to ask questions. Accompanied by this sound, the old beige letter slowly unfolded from the velvet envelope, and the ink stains faintly emerged in the light - only then did we understand that the piano just now was not a foreshadowing, but the "door" of the story. As soon as the keys were dropped, the listener was pulled from reality into this world of light, piano, and letters. The bass of the cello suddenly came over like mist, not stealing the show, but responding softly to the melody of the violin - just like the person who heard the question raised his eyes slightly, and the name signed on the letter suddenly had an outline. The harp player stepped onto the stage to the sound of music, and her skirt brought up tiny bits of wind as it swept across the light spots. The melodies of the two violins gradually become intertwined: when the violin picks up the strings, the cello joins the tune slowly; when the cello falls out of tune, the violin lightly dances around the melody, like two people dancing to the beat one after another. The fingertips interlocking while rotating, the eyes passing through the hair, and even the shadows are dyed with a carefree tacit understanding. But there is a subtle trance hidden in the melody, like silk worn by the wind, swaying at the slightest touch - this is never the liveliness of the moment, but an old conversation sunk in time, so beautiful that it feels light. The sound of the piano gradually rises, like a conversation going up a spiral staircase. Each rising tone is wrapped in lingering elegance. There is no rush, only a stretch of brightness. Until the music suddenly stopped and the conversation was frozen in the air. At this moment, the tinkling sound of the harpsichord broke in, like opening a gold-gilded and lacquered envelope. The flakes of lacquer floated in the light, quietly marking the signature of the story - that is a past that has long gone. The second melody starts from the bass of the cello, like a soft call when the morning light shines through the carved window lattice, so soft that it can wrap people around. The rhythm of the piano player's fingertips slowed down by half a beat, as if he had just sat up from the incense-filled quilt, and even his breath was wrapped in the softness of the morning. The cello hummed half a tune, and the violin added a few clear and broken notes along the end, like a lazy chatter when just waking up: Look, the morning light has fallen on the window sill. A hint of coldness gradually seeped into the sweet conversation, not the biting cold, but the lightness of the light spots on the window lattice in the afternoon that slowly moved away - the beauty was fading, but the elegance did not disappear. It was still wrapped in the lines of daily conversations, such as mentioning the softness of the wind when the tablecloth brushed, or a light response when seeing the tea swaying in the cup. The rhythm of the snare drum suddenly emerged from the darkness, as light as footsteps on the carpet. It was not noisy, but it made the air a little tighter. The sense of crisis was hidden in the gaps between elegant conversations, like the ray of coolness that passed before dark clouds spread over the sun. The melody pushes towards the climax, and the dialogue between the two violins becomes more and more urgent. Every note is wrapped in satin-like elegance. Even if the bow of the strings is rubbed harder, it has not lost its sense of proportion, and it is still as decent as it should be in a castle. Until the music suddenly stopped again - like someone gently closing the open envelope, the letter paper made a soft sound, sealing the unfinished conversation inside. The light spots, dance steps, and piano sounds disappeared instantly, and the audience was shocked to realize that they were standing in reality, with the residual warmth of the first falling keys of the piano still lingering in their ears, and even their breathing slowed down by half a beat. When writing, the music played by the current performer is described as a scene and a story. It describes the emotions brought about by the music to the readers, drives the readers' emotions, and also makes the readers interested in the music and look forward to the description of the music in the subsequent stories. The above description of the song "Epilogue" has been optimized by AI. Some descriptions may have deviated from the artistic conception of the original song. Forgive me for my rubbish writing style. I will not publish the original text to show my shame.

I would like to give my humble opinion to the author. The writing is good, but the rhythm is not suitable for the "coolness" of online writing. In this regard, you can look at how medical novels combine explosive points with professionalism.

{"NickName":"Nuanyang1314","UserId":199773362} Good book, please support me boss