The sun slowly turned an angle, leaving the body of the white-haired master in the shadow. Half of the guqin next to the hospital bed was left in the strong light. The strings of the piano were like steel bars and iron bones, exuding a solemn atmosphere.
Di Qiu walked over, leaned over and gently held the guqin in his arms, a look of desolation between his brows.
Conception: