In the west of Nanjing City, north of Confucius Temple, a woman's delicate and melodious, gentle and sweet song echoed from a theater adjacent to the Yangtze River.
"—Could it be the tremble of her jeweled hairpin as she walks, or the jingle of her sash as her skirt drags, or the wind rattling the iron horse under the eaves, or the bells of the Fanwang Temple ringing at night."
Madam Xue sat at the corner of the square table, listening attentively, her eyes occasionally filled with admiration, deeply enamored with the delicate, gentle, and lingering singing of the female role on the stage.
Next to her was Jiang Hanyun's mother, Lady Jiang: "Why are you so engrossed? Aren't there people performing operas in Beijing?"
"Yes, of course, but they mostly use the huqin and percussion instruments, and most of their singing is falsetto-based. At times, it's too intense; I'm not used to it."
