Enchanted nightscape,
Racing sports car,
Arrogant yet flamboyant,
Stopping at the entrance of a music hall in City E.
Hua Hua steps down from the driver’s seat, shaking the car keys in his hand. Ling Yin gets out first, talking to the ticket lady at the ticket booth. Ten minutes later, inside the grand music hall, it was just the two of them.
Two people!
The overwhelming lights fall only on Ling Yin.
In the section for 500 spectators, in the center position, sits Hua Hua, enjoying himself freely.
Ling Yin opens the piano and tunes it once. He is naturally not a musician and dares not presu to show off recklessly,
nor will he boldly let Hua Hua randomly choose a piece; instead, he selects a piece he is good at, recalling Hua Hua tugging at his ear in his mind, a faint blush on his ear as he presses a key with a thud.
Then he presses three consecutive notes, and a chord suddenly sounds.
In his mind are all the bits and pieces of life from the past two months, not grand and dramatic, just mundane yet infinitely morable life details, ordinary yet real, filled with the joy of pursuit and the agony of unfulfilled desires.
A movent about love gently rises in the vast music hall, starting at his fingertips, flowing in his heart.
Love is often a step closer to happiness, a step back to loneliness.
For the first half of his life, he revolved around Tian Jun, fighting for his empire. Now that the boss has left, his heart suddenly feels empty, and he finally needs to plan for himself thoroughly.
And Hua Hua has beco his obsession over the past few years.
He likes him more and more, wants to keep him in his heart. When work is tiring, when annoyed, just a glance at his photo invigorates him entirely; this feeling is very wonderful.
Intense emotions burst gently within the moderate notes, absolutely stunning, seemingly filling the entire music hall, causing the air to tremble in this soothing movent.
Ling Yin sits under the lights; all the beams converge into a bundle, illuminating him with the piano, rged as one.
Hua Hua took a deep breath; so things have nothing to do with music, just a sense of imrsion, particularly amazing!
Accompanied by Ling Yin’s fingers flying over the notes, the music seems to have a magical force drawing him in, building a bridge of connection between him and Ling Yin. People tend to find friends that are similar to themselves; obviously, many differences exist between him and Ling Yin, yet he feels they share many similarities.
Like being orphans in childhood, both being beggars; even in love, since Ling Yin confessed he liked him after a long period of struggle and contemplation, he felt they had so similar experiences in the bittersweet world of love—those experiences are indescribable.
The affectionate tide of music gently assaults him, then slowly recedes; Ling Yin drops the last note.
Everything cos to an abrupt end.
His voice turns into the sole tone: "How was it? Haven’t practiced in a while, a bit rusty, apologize for my clumsy performance."
Hua Hua suddenly stands up, steps quickly onto the stage, walks to his side, takes a seat: "Brother Ling, can you teach ?"
"Didn’t think I played poorly?" Ling Yin is sowhat reserved.
Hua Hua nods confidently: "I don’t understand, I just feel the mood is especially beautiful. Quick, teach how to play!"
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