In the spring, Chu Junliang held Aqing in his arms, and the lush tung cypress branches cast mottled reflections on them.
"Aqing..."
"What's wrong?"
"I want to hear you play the piano."
"Good"
The sound of the piano is like the wind and like a silver bell.
Chu Junliang narrowed his eyes and was drunk by the sound of the piano.
In my fleeting life, I just want to grow old with you...