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How resonant the dancing pearls shake the jade. The soaring phoenix folds its wings after its dance, and the crane's cry ends with a long, drawn-out chorus. At first sight, it was breathtaking, yet gazing intently and listening attentively was not enough. Eight or nine years have passed since I returned to the human world, My ears have grown cold and never heard this music again. In Pencheng, I hear only the chatter of the baboon, and in Ba Gorge, only the cry of the cuckoo.

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