It's nothing more than Mo Lan will be surprised.

The song played by Si Yunyin was actually the "Liang Zhu" played in the lost pavilion on the night Mo Lan first arrived at the Minwang Mansion.

She only played it once at that time, but Si Yunyin actually wrote it down, and played it so skillfully! Now it seems that she is too worried, Si Yunyin's attainments in music and rhythm should definitely not be underestimated.

With this piece as an accompaniment, it really saved her a lot of trouble.

The ink blue hooked his lips and smiled, and the peach-colored ribbon fluttered like a butterfly, slowly spreading its radiant wings.

The unique quiet and melancholy characteristics of the sound of the flute add a bit of lingering and melancholy to this already mournful and tactful track, melodious and exciting, only the initial soft section tightly holds their blood, as if even the blood has become cautious in such a clear and poignant music, almost stagnant and cool.

The woman's gentle and amorous dance appears in the flow of musical notes, light and graceful, and elegant.

The wide ribbon flew leisurely, in the snow, like a rolling peach-red storm, gently stretching, wrapping around the graceful posture of opening and closing. Suddenly rolling and soothing, it seems to clear the clouds and mist to see the clouds fluttering in the blue sky, like the buds of layers of petals tightly wrapped in stamens blooming, like a waterfall pouring down 3,000 feet, like a clear stream flowing in the depths of the chaotic mountains.

Suddenly, the sound of the flute became more and more urgent, as if a flat boat was swaying in the turbulent river, and everyone couldn't help but feel a pang in their hearts.

The woman in the pink dress flicked her arms, and the two ribbons swept quickly to both sides, like a prison bird breaking through the cage and flapping its wings.

A very large flip in the air, a toe lift, a wolf on the frame jumped up, rolled a few times and then landed firmly in the woman's hands. The bare hands lingered, the skirt fluttered, and the streamers were connected in the air to form a huge cage fence, enveloping the peach-colored clothes.

With the slender brush in hand, it seems to dance without wind, leaving a series of intense ink colors on the plain white screen. And her dancing steps have not stopped, her posture is as soft as clouds, her arms are soft as bonesless, sometimes she raises her wrists and lowers her eyebrows, and sometimes she gently relaxes her hands. The continuous side waist swings, and the ribbons are swirling, like a huge pink whirlpool.

The green silk flew up, his posture was like a swallow, and he was tossing rapidly as if he wanted to break through the rotating wheel of life, but he was always struggling in front of the rippling circle. The pen walks around the dragon and paints the danqing, and the black lines stretch on the screen, and the speed seems to be chaotic.

With the gradually thick and heavy sound of the flute, a touch of peach crossed a winding arc, the brush flew back to the pen holder, and after a few circles of the arms, two ribbons were like vines wrapped around the ends of the other two pens, and after retreating, they fell on both hands.

Wonderful hands hold vine leaves, and lotus flowers are born under the feet.

A pair of green bamboos in their hands, as if given life, wander in a large area of thick ink, leaving the thin and continuous traces in the white void.

There were several different swirls, the peach flowed, and the row of cyan inlaid ink black also leaped in the air, like a flying knife, like a carp jumping over the dragon gate, leaving traces on that side of the screen.

After a rapid jump, the sound of the flute slowed down again, becoming soft and weak, like an exhausted butterfly trying to pursue that beautiful flower field, but had no choice but to stop alone and stay sad, echoing in the sky for a long time.

And the women's dancing posture gradually returned to tranquility at this moment, and the tumbling ribbon was like the sound of the flute, bringing people the vast conjecture of wanting to struggle and escape but not being able to do so.

At the end of the day, a slender pen turned and gently crossed the screen and returned to the bench, and then the poignant sound of the flute gradually subsided, and the pink swirled leisurely, wrapped into a huge silkworm chrysalis, standing for a long time in the snow.

The sound of the flute falls, and the dance posture stops.

The whole garden fell into a deathly silence.