Classic scene descriptions, and numerous allusions.

page views:1 Publication date:2014-07-10

A majestic aura shrouds the jade couch, a murderous intent locks the mandarin duck quilt; on the coral pillow, heroes display their prowess, within the jade curtains, warriors clash. The men, enraged, thrust their black-tasseled spears in succession. The female general, furious, slaps her hips and brandishes her deadly sword. Back and forth, An Lushan meets Consort Yang. A collision, a charge, Junrui pursues Lady Cui. Left and right, the Weaver Girl of the Milky Way meets the Cowherd. Soaring up and down, the fairy maiden encounters Ruan Zhao. Spears and shields clash, Cui Lang and Xue Ai'ai. Cannons fire, swords meet, two swords burst forth, Su Xiaoxiao. One's warbling voice is like Wu Zetian meeting Ao Cao. The other's panting voice is like Shen Zai meeting Lü Zhi. In the initial battle, knowing the strength, they thrust wildly, the sharp blades slightly meeting. Later, both cannons attack simultaneously, arms and legs closing in. The men, in a fit of rage, thrust their spears only towards the heart. The female general, flustered, opens her mouth, wanting to swallow their heads. One wielding two cannons, attacking the inner groin soldiers back and forth. Another, with swaggering arms, flanking the general below the navel. One stood on one leg, his jade-like legs raised high, displaying his spirit. Another, like a withered tree with gnarled roots, pricked the female like a feathered flower. After a long battle, their eyes grew hazy, only numbness creeping in. After much hearing, she swayed her slender waist, unable to withstand another hundred rounds of fighting, the leader of the scattered-hair cave fell onto the bridge, releasing water to flood the army. The black-clad general, feigning a thrust, turned and fled for his life. The general fell from his horse, his flesh trampled into mud in an instant, his warm, tight makeup glazed, and he tumbled to the bottom of a deep ravine. His large armor was torn to shreds, like withered flowers battered by a sudden rain. His brocade headdress, exhausted and limp, was like a fallen leaf blown by a fierce wind. The sulfur-clad marshal, his helmet askew and armor scattered, had nowhere to run. The silver-armored general, holding the old camp, still had to fight to the death. It was truly a scene of sorrowful clouds rising to the ninth heaven, a mass of defeated soldiers.

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