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The large strings are noisy like heavy rain, the small strings are sharp like whispers. The noisy and sharp sounds mix and clash, like large and small pearls falling on a jade plate. The birds' songs and the flowers' murmurs intertwine, the secluded spring flows beneath the ice, making it difficult to hear. The icy spring is cold and the strings freeze, frozen and silent, the sound momentarily ceases. There is hidden sorrow and secret resentment, at this moment, silence is better than sound. The silver jar suddenly breaks, water and paste splatter out, the iron cavalry suddenly emerges, the swords and guns clang.
