Little relative! I don't want your silver.
My dear Nunu! All I need is your heart.
Oh dear! Your heart!
Your heart, your heart, your heart...
Dandan stepped forward and finally took to the stage.
A bright yellow umbrella twirled in her hand, her body appearing and disappearing in the mist. She understood then that these everyday dance moves, on stage, were like this. A chill ran down her neck; the long hair that had protected her was now completely gone, leaving her utterly exposed.
She was a newcomer with nothing. She had no heart left either.
A light drizzle was falling in my heart:
The drizzle brought tears to my eyes.
A gentle breeze was blowing, making me afraid to lift my head.
I looked up abruptly, and there came my good friend.
Oh my, what a kind person!
Accompanied by these decadent songs of yearning for love, Dandan felt as if all the men in the world were staring at her thighs, and she was shamelessly selling herself, which made her feel wronged.
The ballet shoes on her feet were originally very simple: white cloth shoes with rubber soles and round openings, with two white ribbons sewn on to wrap around her ankles to prevent them from falling off when she jumped and turned. These counterfeit ballet shoes were very uncooperative and quite embarrassing. As soon as the bows loosened, the white ribbons scattered and fell absentmindedly to the bottom, lying on the stage like a small white snake.
Dandan was busy dancing and covering herself up. Now she was too busy with the umbrella to care about her dance shoes. When she saw the dark crowd below the stage, she panicked and forgot the lyrics. She kept swallowing. The audience burst into laughter, which was a bit indulgent. Dandan was so embarrassed that she stuck out her tongue and her face turned red.
A person walked in from below the stage.
Jin Xiaofeng.
As soon as Mr. Jin heard the announcement of Fu Lili's Girls' Song and Dance Troupe, it immediately attracted a large audience and the theater was packed early. Upon inspection, he found that the tickets were for "Young girls, pink legs and soft breasts, a thousand-year-old jade-like face, and ten thousand kinds of charm," and there was also a line of large characters that read: "The love story of a little sister."
And so, everyone watched with bated breath to see what he would use to save face. Sure enough, it was a group of "little sisters" in their late teens and early twenties.
The costumes were so scantily clad that the performance was so scandalous that the audience was both astonished and unable to look away.
As soon as he stepped into the venue, someone with good manners arranged for him to sit in the front row. Shi Zhongming accompanied him. The two of them happened to see Dandan's naive and embarrassed state on stage, too ashamed to cry or laugh.
Jin Xiaofeng was startled, as if struck by lightning.
—She's back, she's back.
Completely unprepared, he was caught off guard and this happened.
He saw her! She must have been reincarnated. It was at the Yingchun Theater, the most famous theater on Wuma Road, where he was a top-tier performer. Ah, it was so long ago—…
During the day, each performance features four storytelling sessions. The artists who come to perform all have their own unique stories, including epic tales of heroes and tender love stories. The clappers and strings create a melodious atmosphere.
Those who listen to Pingtan all love to drink tea. Those old-timers who listen rain or shine, never missing a single listen, don't even need to speak after taking their seats; their attentive service is as clear as a gentle breeze. A hooked index finger indicates black tea; a straight index finger indicates green tea; all five fingers extended and slightly concave to resemble flower petals indicate chrysanthemum; a fist clenched indicates rice cakes…
However, he seemed somewhat lost and dejected today. He'd eaten some smoked frog legs and eggs, and those who wanted to talk gestured with their little fingers for more water. During breaks, Jin Xiaofeng watched as vendors selling snacks like licorice plums, golden leaves, water chestnut slices, glutinous rice slices, and zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) walked past him like a revolving lantern. He was the wick of that lantern; whoever was walking, whoever was beckoning, his heart only shone on the stage. Even the regular customers seemed strange.
It's because I'm satisfied.
Summer of 1933, Shanghai.
The girl, Manyi, comes from Suzhou. She and her mother work together; the blind mother plays the piano, and she sings. They call it storytelling, but she's not really that good at it.
However, what is most touching about her is her age, which is completely out of place with rap.
Satisfaction is like a flower bud half-open, gently unfolding in the wind. No matter the time, a thin blush rises to her face, and she often lowers her head, her eyelashes almost drowning out her eyes.
She didn't sing very well, but her soft, delicate voice was exceptionally sweet and melodious; who would have thought it could convey both charm and resentment? She was much older than her. Yet, she was merely a "side dish" in the middle of the performance.
Among the male listeners, many were not really interested in listening to the storytelling, but rather in supporting the beautiful woman. They drank tea, ate melon seeds, and snacks. Without the noise of gongs and drums, the pipa alone could hardly keep the scene quiet. However, once she finished playing, her beauty dazzled everyone.
Actually, what she relied on for the whole performance wasn't the opening, but the opening was still quite truthful.
Fragrant lotus blossoms sway in the cool breeze over the clear water.
The water flows, the breeze is cool, and the summer days are long.
Long summer days,
Bilianxiang
There was a young lady named Yuanyang who called herself Hongniang.
Sitting idly in the orchid-scented room always feels lonely.
Why not dispel your sorrows and find solace in the garden?
Who knows who Wanwan will meet, or whose heart she will disturb? She's just a young girl, carefully recounting past love stories. Still somewhat naive, eager to do well, her singing was too high-pitched, lacking strength, unable to reach her full potential, making the lyrics difficult to understand, and ultimately, her voice broke. A mischievous voice in the audience shouted:
"Wring out your handkerchief, get off the stage!"
The other listeners chuckled softly and understandingly. They didn't jeer her, but her face flushed red on its own.
She sang the wrong note, rose too high, and couldn't continue. Embarrassed, she stuck out her tongue and timidly continued: ...
The matchmaker is the one who pushes open the green gauze window.
The incense table is placed in the center.