What's so wonderful? One sentence is a story, Zhihu.

A hundred days of flute and a thousand days of flute, a small huqin broke his waist.

During the Republic of China, there were many masters of Peking Opera and Kunqu Opera. As far as I know, it was the most glorious history of Peking Opera. At that time, a group of progressive social groups began to westernize, while a group of people were still clinging to traditional concepts. Coupled with the turbulent social situation, people today are a little drunk, and there is nothing the Ming Dynasty can do.

The stage of Beijing Opera is full of stories of the former dynasty. Both the singer and the audience participated in the drama and forgot the pain of reality.

I don't like going to the theatre, but I like listening to the Hu Qin. Without a good master of Peking Opera, there must be a good master of Huqin. Hu Qin holds the voice in the corner. If you are at the height of the huqin, you will be at the height of the huqin. Where you are missing, Hu Qin will make up for it. Where you walk, the huqin will cover for you, which perfectly embellishes the singing skills.

I got to know it a little bit and was very impressed. How many roles were played on the stage of drama in the Republic of China? Boss Mei and boss Cheng are popular all over China, but neither master can make a circle, nor does anyone record an album for them. It's a pity to think about it.

One minute on stage and ten years off stage emphasize talent, hard work and hardship, which is the only way to become a master. Hu Qin, too, can only sit in the shadow of the stage and break his waist, which is an unremarkable green leaf.

You bury mud and nail bones under the spring, and I send snow on earth.

Bai Juyi, 30, met Yuan Zhen, 23, and they held hands for life. No one can separate them except death. They never play together and write poems together. If you write to me, I will write back. My beautiful concubine would like to share with you. After Yuan Zhen's death, Bai Juyi often remembered it, so he wrote these two poems nine years after Yuan Zhen's death.

Every word is tearful, every stroke is bloody, and every sentence is love.

Even if you don't know the story behind these two poems, anyone who has read them can feel the feeling of being powerless and wishing that he couldn't go with the dead. You are dead, I am still alive, and I can only be regarded as a stranger on earth.