Blue and White Porcelain, Cheongsam
The azure hue waits for the misty rain, and I am waiting for you.
Smoke curls upwards, spanning thousands of miles across the river,
In the bottle's bottom, calligraphy imitating the elegance of the previous dynasty,
Let it be a foreshadowing of our meeting,
Among so many beautiful garments,
The cheongsam possesses a unique charm and allure,
When it moves, it's like a graceful and lingering song swaying in the wind,
When still, it's like a graceful willow painting serene in one's eyes,
The misty Jiangnan, drizzling rain like woven silk,
A row of white-walled, gray-tiled dwellings blend into a beautiful landscape,
A woman in a blue cheongsam,
Holding an oil paper umbrella, carrying a gentle bow,
Their hair is high-raised, eyebrows barely visible, strolling gracefully,
The charm and allure radiating from a single gesture and a slight movement,
The delicate fragrance emanating from them, like strands of silk,
They silently tell the stories of their bamboo heart,
And a lingering story in the misty rain and red dust…
The cheongsam itself is a poem, quiet yet captivating, classical and subtly seductive,
A cheongsam should be the most realistic reflection of simplicity and complexity,
It carries deep and shallow emotions, and ambiguous stories,
When they carry a sleeve of fragrant, ethereal elegance, they cross through time and dust,
Behind them, they also leave behind a journey of charm and a song of farewell,
It's my nature to like classical and elegant things,
Therefore, the cheongsam is the clothing in my dreams,
It's like a blue lotus, blooming in my dreams,
The misty Jiangnan of March, walking on damp, gray stone,
Walking through the rain, fading away into the distance…
At one end of the long sleeves is the sea, at the other end is the farmland,
I faintly smell the taste of time, a fragrance of flowing years,
But behind that opulent and elegant silk…
...one can see the reserved and prosperous, and the sorrow of the fading grandeur,
Moonlight like water, cold and dreamlike, guarding a quiet serenity in the dark night,
The transparent glass window refracts illusory images,
Water-ink Jiangnan, drizzling rain, like a poem and a painting,
Rain-washed Indigo Locust trees, jade-green reflections in the rippling water,
She holds a brush to paint silk, lost in the misty years,
For whom does she yearn so wistfully?
