雨,打在暗红色的屋檐上,顺着弧形的微笑似的飞角抛向空中,那是你的容貌;风,吹拂大门口高高悬挂的红灯笼,灯笼纸红得如双颊,那是你的容貌;阳光,照在宫墙与那石阶上,上面不知何时生出的岁月刻痕像你的皱纹,那是你的容貌。也许是你太过苍老,亦或是你太过深厚,印象里,你有太多的样子。外国的人们向往着面纱中神秘的你,就连生在你脚下的我,也对你无从定义,可我仍努力去看你的面孔,看在中国红映照下的你。 Rain, hit the dark red roof, along the arc-shaped smile of the flying angle thrown into the air, it is your appearance; the wind, blowing the red lanterns hanging from the gate, the lanterns paper as red as cheeks, It is your appearance; the sun, according to the palace wall and the stone steps, I do not know when the birth of nicks like your wrinkles, it is your appearance. Perhaps you are too old, or you are too deep, the impression that you have too much. Foreigners yearning for the mysterious veil you, and even my life at your feet, I also have no definition of you, but I still try to see your face, looking at China under the red you.