Last update: Sunday 15 January 2006
In a state of wooziness, Linghu Chong felt agitating pain from his chest, and his blood seemed to have gone in every direction, it was such an undesirable discomfort. After a long while, he gradually gained back his consciousness. His body seemed to have been roasted in a huge oven. He could not help groaning. Then he heard someone saying, "Be quiet."
The fifteen masked men slowly approached forward, their thirty eyes shined through the holes on their masks like the eyes of fierce wild animals, filled with cruelty and hostility.
Linghu Chong tried playing the "Song of Blue Heaven". Although the fingering was not fluent, in addition, several notes were off, from the music, one could still vision the spectacular spacious view of the cloudless sky.
Zu Qianqiu reached into his pocket and took out a wine cup. Smooth and soft, it was actually a white jade cup. He reached in again, and went on taking out more and more wine cups.
The girl was about seventeen years old. Her bloodless face rested on the pillow, and her long hair spread over the blanket. "Dad!" said she in a dim voice, yet without opening her eyes.
A girl leaped out from the cabin of the small boat and stood on the bow smiling. She was dressed in a blue skirt with white flower patterns. Outside the skirt, she had an embroidered apron with many colorful and shinning decorations. By the way she dressed, one can easily tell she was a minority girl.
Half of the girl's face could be seen from the reflection in the water. Her eyes were shut tight. Long eyelashes swayed in the wind. She was a gorgeous-looking girl seventeen or eighteen years of age.
The old man turned his head back and glared at Linghu Chong coldly. With a trace of surprise shown on his face, he snorted. Linghu Chong raised his cup. "Please!" he said.
Mr. Black-White extended his index finger and middle finger rapidly and gripped towards the blade of the thrusting sword. The five spectators couldn't help letting out a cry of surprise.
Linghu Chong picked up the bamboo flute and waved gently. Air flew through the holes on the flute and made several soft tones. Mr. Huang-Zhong plunked the strings a couple of times with his right hand, in the echoing, the end of the zither was already on it's way towards Linghu Chong's right shoulder.