It was hard to say if Sun Dongling had just given up on herself, but in any case, she messed up twice during her performance.
The song, an ordinary and already mediocre ballad, was sung terribly.
The voting progress bar only made it to a third of the way before it stopped moving.
Sun Dongling walked off the stage, her eyes red.
The next to perform was Tang Wanqing.
She had changed into a new outfit: a set of jade-green, ancient-style robes. She was also holding a pipa.
"At the head of Xunyang River, seeing a guest off at night, / Maple leaves and reed flowers rustle in the autumn air.
The host dismounts, the guest is in the boat, / They raise their cups to drink, but there is no music.
…
The thick strings clattered like a sudden shower, / The thin strings murmured like a private whisper, a private whisper.
Clattering and murmuring, plucked in turn, / Like large and small pearls falling on a jade plate, on a jade plate…"
