The graceful dance instantly captured Li Qianfan's eyes.
As Zeng Qian spun, her clothes billowed, the hem of her skirt blooming like a flower, layers upon layers, bursting with dazzling colors, each turn bringing a whirlwind of splendid chromatic storms.
Her supple waist twisted with the rhythm of the music, every movement filled with a sense of rhythm, as if her body was the embodiment of musical notes, transforming the silent melodies into tangible dance steps.
Her arms extended, fingertips lightly bouncing as if they played invisible strings, each wave seemed to paint exquisite pictures in the air.
Her footsteps were light, each one treading the line between reality and illusion, like lotus flowers on water, both solid and ethereal, her gaze focused and misty, as if immersed in her own world, cut off from everything else but her and her dance.