《白牡丹》White Peony - 大自然之歌

kaixin992025

dramatic Chinese ballad, traditional Chinese opera-influenced, lyrical/poetic ballad

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🌿✨🌊 大自然之歌 Songs of Nature 🌊✨🌿

把大自然唱成一首歌
=====================
投稿專輯 Submission Album:
🌿✨🌊 大自然之歌 Songs of Nature 🌊✨🌿
https://suno.com/playlist/12c41c80-046f-498f-a615-6cd91526bb1c
=====================
我們身處在這片大自然之中，看見山、海、風、雨、花、草、星辰，也聽見鳥鳴、浪聲、蟲鳴與森林的呼吸。

其實，我們從來不是大自然之外的人。
我們也是風的一部分、土地的一部分、生命的一部分。 🌏✨

如果一片葉子能寫成一段旋律，如果一場雨能唱出一個故事，那麼，你眼中的大自然，會是一首怎樣的歌呢？

We live within nature — among mountains, oceans, wind, rain, flowers, trees, and stars. We hear the birds, the waves, the insects, and the quiet breathing of the forest. We are not separate from nature. We are part of the wind, part of the earth, part of this living world. 🌿✨

If a leaf could become a melody, if the rain could sing a story, what kind of song would nature become through your eyes?

《白牡丹》故事背景

城南以前有家茶馆。
不大，木头楼梯踩上去总会响。
楼下喝茶，楼上唱戏。逢下雨的时候，窗户关不严，风一吹，台上的胡琴声就飘得到处都是。
她年轻时常去。
总坐窗边第二张桌子，要一壶白牡丹。
掌柜认得她，后来都不用问。

其实她也不是多懂戏。
有些词听不明白，只觉得好听。
有一年春天，戏班来了个唱青衣的人。
那人嗓子很淡，唱慢句的时候，底下连茶杯碰桌子的声音都没有。
后来她便总挑有戏的日子去。
有时人很多，她就坐着听。
有时戏唱完了，她还不走。

掌柜问过一句：
“等人？”
她愣了愣，只笑着摇头。
后来戏班走了。
茶馆还在，只是听戏的人越来越少。
再后来，连戏台都空了。
她还是会去。

冬天坐里面一点，夏天靠窗。
茶淡了，就让掌柜添水。
有一年快过年，城南开始拆旧街。
她最后一次去的时候，外面落着雪。
茶馆里没什么人。
掌柜低头擦桌子，忽然说：
“现在年轻人，不爱听戏了。”
她没接话。
只是看着那只旧茶杯，很久都没动。

临走的时候，她才发现，
原来自己这些年记得的，
已经不是哪一句戏词，也不是台上唱戏的人。
只是偶尔路过一条旧街，闻到一点茶香，还是会想起，那时候的自己。

那时候，总觉得很多东西，是不会散的。

*********歌词*********

一盏白牡丹，清苦又清香，
茶馆旧窗，映出你的模样。
那年春风不语，戏台唱到尾章，
你一折扇，一回眸，把心收藏。

你唱那句“造化独钟难自弃”，
我便信了人间情意。
一曲未终，我却记了半生，
等你如等一壶旧雨。

“今朝遍舞万千山，谁人解我意？”
茶烟袅袅处，你可曾听我心语？

逢五日之约，白牡丹泛着光，
每一次期待，都被空椅轻晃。
是缘分薄如纸，还是你不敢回望？
我愿守着这一盏白牡丹，
等到空山落雪，旧梦成霜。

白茶终会淡，旧梦也泛黄，
你回眸一瞬，像戏里的月光。
若此生不能，再与你同唱，
这一盏白牡丹，
如梦一场。

"The Story Background of White Peony"

There used to be a teahouse in the south side of the city.
It wasn’t large. The wooden stairs always creaked when people walked up them. Downstairs, people drank tea. Upstairs, opera singers performed. On rainy days, the windows never closed properly, and when the wind came through, the sound of the erhu drifted all across the room.

She used to go there often when she was young.
She always sat at the second table by the window and ordered a pot of White Peony tea. The owner recognized her after a while and stopped asking what she wanted.
Truthfully, she didn’t understand opera that well. Some lyrics she couldn’t even follow. She only thought it sounded beautiful.

One spring, an opera troupe arrived. Among them was a young dan performer in blue robes. His voice was calm and restrained. Whenever he sang a slow passage, even the sound of teacups touching the table would disappear.
After that, she began choosing days when the troupe performed. Sometimes the teahouse was crowded, and she simply sat quietly among the audience. Sometimes the opera ended, yet she still lingered after everyone had gone.
One day the owner asked her,
“Waiting for someone?”
She paused for a moment, then smiled and shook her head.

Later, the troupe left.
The teahouse remained, but fewer people came to listen to opera. Eventually even the stage stood empty.
Still, she continued visiting.
In winter she sat farther inside. In summer she stayed near the window. When the tea lost its flavor, she asked the owner to refill it with hot water.
One year, near the Lunar New Year, the old streets of the south side began to disappear under reconstruction.
The last time she visited, snow was falling outside. There were barely any customers left inside the teahouse.
The owner wiped down a table and sighed softly:

“Young people these days don’t listen to opera anymore.”
She didn’t answer.
She only stared at the old teacup for a very long time.
Before leaving, she suddenly realized that what she remembered all these years was no longer a certain opera line, nor the singer on the stage.
It was simply that whenever she passed an old street and caught the faint scent of tea, she would remember the person she used to be back then.

Back then, she believed some things would never fade away.

******* Lyrics***********

A cup of White Peony, bitter yet sweet,
By the old teahouse window where our shadows meet.
Spring said nothing while the opera played on,
One turn of your fan, and my heart was gone.

You sang, “Fate favors what it cannot keep,”
And I believed love could run that deep.
The song never ended inside my mind,
I waited like old rain lost in time.

“Across ten thousand mountains, who understands me?”
Through drifting tea smoke, can you still hear me?

Every fifth day, White Peony would glow,
Each hopeful waiting shaken by an empty row.
Was fate too thin, or were you afraid to stay?
I kept this cup of White Peony,
Till snow fell on empty mountains,
And old dreams turned to gray.

White tea fades slowly, old dreams fade too,
One glance from you shone like pale moonlight through.
If this life won’t let us sing side by side,
Then this cup of White Peony
Was only a dream
I could never set aside.

4819/7500

🌿✨🌊 大自然之歌 Songs of Nature 🌊✨🌿 把大自然唱成一首歌 ===================== 投稿專輯 Submission Album: 🌿✨🌊 大自然之歌 Songs of Nature 🌊✨🌿 https://suno.com/playlist/12c41c80-046f-498f-a615-6cd91526bb1c ===================== 我們身處在這片大自然之中，看見山、海、風、雨、花、草、星辰，也聽見鳥鳴、浪聲、蟲鳴與森林的呼吸。其實，我們從來不是大自然之外的人。我們也是風的一部分、土地的一部分、生命的一部分。 🌏✨ 如果一片葉子能寫成一段旋律，如果一場雨能唱出一個故事，那麼，你眼中的大自然，會是一首怎樣的歌呢？ We live within nature — among mountains, oceans, wind, rain, flowers, trees, and stars. We hear the birds, the waves, the insects, and the quiet breathing of the forest. We are not separate from nature. We are part of the wind, part of the earth, part of this living world. 🌿✨ If a leaf could become a melody, if the rain could sing a story, what kind of song would nature become through your eyes? 《白牡丹》故事背景城南以前有家茶馆。不大，木头楼梯踩上去总会响。楼下喝茶，楼上唱戏。逢下雨的时候，窗户关不严，风一吹，台上的胡琴声就飘得到处都是。她年轻时常去。总坐窗边第二张桌子，要一壶白牡丹。掌柜认得她，后来都不用问。其实她也不是多懂戏。有些词听不明白，只觉得好听。有一年春天，戏班来了个唱青衣的人。那人嗓子很淡，唱慢句的时候，底下连茶杯碰桌子的声音都没有。后来她便总挑有戏的日子去。有时人很多，她就坐着听。有时戏唱完了，她还不走。掌柜问过一句： “等人？” 她愣了愣，只笑着摇头。后来戏班走了。茶馆还在，只是听戏的人越来越少。再后来，连戏台都空了。她还是会去。冬天坐里面一点，夏天靠窗。茶淡了，就让掌柜添水。有一年快过年，城南开始拆旧街。她最后一次去的时候，外面落着雪。茶馆里没什么人。掌柜低头擦桌子，忽然说： “现在年轻人，不爱听戏了。” 她没接话。只是看着那只旧茶杯，很久都没动。临走的时候，她才发现，原来自己这些年记得的，已经不是哪一句戏词，也不是台上唱戏的人。只是偶尔路过一条旧街，闻到一点茶香，还是会想起，那时候的自己。那时候，总觉得很多东西，是不会散的。 *********歌词********* 一盏白牡丹，清苦又清香，茶馆旧窗，映出你的模样。那年春风不语，戏台唱到尾章，你一折扇，一回眸，把心收藏。你唱那句“造化独钟难自弃”，我便信了人间情意。一曲未终，我却记了半生，等你如等一壶旧雨。 “今朝遍舞万千山，谁人解我意？” 茶烟袅袅处，你可曾听我心语？逢五日之约，白牡丹泛着光，每一次期待，都被空椅轻晃。是缘分薄如纸，还是你不敢回望？我愿守着这一盏白牡丹，等到空山落雪，旧梦成霜。白茶终会淡，旧梦也泛黄，你回眸一瞬，像戏里的月光。若此生不能，再与你同唱，这一盏白牡丹，如梦一场。 "The Story Background of White Peony" There used to be a teahouse in the south side of the city. It wasn’t large. The wooden stairs always creaked when people walked up them. Downstairs, people drank tea. Upstairs, opera singers performed. On rainy days, the windows never closed properly, and when the wind came through, the sound of the erhu drifted all across the room. She used to go there often when she was young. She always sat at the second table by the window and ordered a pot of White Peony tea. The owner recognized her after a while and stopped asking what she wanted. Truthfully, she didn’t understand opera that well. Some lyrics she couldn’t even follow. She only thought it sounded beautiful. One spring, an opera troupe arrived. Among them was a young dan performer in blue robes. His voice was calm and restrained. Whenever he sang a slow passage, even the sound of teacups touching the table would disappear. After that, she began choosing days when the troupe performed. Sometimes the teahouse was crowded, and she simply sat quietly among the audience. Sometimes the opera ended, yet she still lingered after everyone had gone. One day the owner asked her, “Waiting for someone?” She paused for a moment, then smiled and shook her head. Later, the troupe left. The teahouse remained, but fewer people came to listen to opera. Eventually even the stage stood empty. Still, she continued visiting. In winter she sat farther inside. In summer she stayed near the window. When the tea lost its flavor, she asked the owner to refill it with hot water. One year, near the Lunar New Year, the old streets of the south side began to disappear under reconstruction. The last time she visited, snow was falling outside. There were barely any customers left inside the teahouse. The owner wiped down a table and sighed softly: “Young people these days don’t listen to opera anymore.” She didn’t answer. She only stared at the old teacup for a very long time. Before leaving, she suddenly realized that what she remembered all these years was no longer a certain opera line, nor the singer on the stage. It was simply that whenever she passed an old street and caught the faint scent of tea, she would remember the person she used to be back then. Back then, she believed some things would never fade away. ******* Lyrics*********** A cup of White Peony, bitter yet sweet, By the old teahouse window where our shadows meet. Spring said nothing while the opera played on, One turn of your fan, and my heart was gone. You sang, “Fate favors what it cannot keep,” And I believed love could run that deep. The song never ended inside my mind, I waited like old rain lost in time. “Across ten thousand mountains, who understands me?” Through drifting tea smoke, can you still hear me? Every fifth day, White Peony would glow, Each hopeful waiting shaken by an empty row. Was fate too thin, or were you afraid to stay? I kept this cup of White Peony, Till snow fell on empty mountains, And old dreams turned to gray. White tea fades slowly, old dreams fade too, One glance from you shone like pale moonlight through. If this life won’t let us sing side by side, Then this cup of White Peony Was only a dream I could never set aside.

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