MONICA CLARK
Stories (1/0)
Farewell my concubine
The night wind blew silkily, blowing the handsome flag on top of the tent. Inside the tent, a red candle, dripping with candle oil, covered the embossed plate of the bronze candlestice-holder. Out of the pale blue flames, milky plumes of smoke rose with a thin, choking stench. Xiang Yu, the renowned master of the Jiangdong rebellion, stooping slightly forward, propped her knee on her left elbow, holding a lacquered wood chip in her right hand, rustling on a plain drawing, looks master on a tig-skin rug. He had a thick, dark face, a broad, square chin. The thin, proud lips were pressed together, and from the little whirls at the corners of the mouth two tired wrinkles cut deep across the cheeks and extended into the chin. His dark eyes, though lightly covered with a veil of melancholy, when he raised his face, the large black eyes jumped out of the flame that only the innocent eyes of children.
By MONICA CLARK11 months ago in Education