Zhao Ling smiled softly, and sat down in front of the zither with a calm expression. She freed her mind as the serene words of the lunar poem streaked into her mind. She lifted her wrist lightly, and the melodious sound of the zither flowed out with her sweet voice.
"Life makes a coincidence,
flying stars spread hatred, the milky way is dark.
Once the golden wind and jade dew meet,
they will win but there are countless people in the world.
The tenderness is like water, the good season is like a dream,
and I can bear to look at the way back from lunar.
If the two loves last for a long time, how can they be in the morning and evening. "
She played and sang by herself, her voice was a little low but clear and pleasant, and her expression was indifferent but fascinating, like a mysterious girl above the nine heavens.
