Sightseers soon flocked to the theatre at the edge of water. The sharp sounds of grieved zither by the candle-light’s coming like a roaring wind were rising to the air and swinging down through the emptiness of the stage , everywhere, a mist of scarlet. Outside the walls, warmed tunes were ebbing by the flow and flow strung on the canals along the copperish lantern-dotted boats. And every corner of simple lanes, horses and rocking sedan chairs were coming and going with an echo of a duet. The helpless yawns slipped from the mouth seemed to engulf tired passengers from head to foot in a waking dream.
Meanwhile the thrilled drums of the prelude stretched around the waist of the stage. When a soaring song was piercing through the red curtains, a figure in a grey blue gown on the front boat appeared at the center of the stage floor, it was Jin Ke, who was undertaking a dangerous mission to assassinate the First Emperor of Qin and singing a song of parting by the bank of mournful Yi River. Over the bridge, a face bearing dignified gloom, voiceless, plucked strings of the zither. How could it bear that he saw his brave friend away. The song resounded to the step, on the chilly river.
