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Dust in the Cup
History杯中尘
Standing At 31
The two of them sat facing each other. Yi Fengqianqian plucks the strings with her ten fingers, the sound of the piano is like the vibrating of gold and jade, and thousands of artistic conceptions are softly embedded in it. For a moment, the sun did not move, the wind stopped in the forest, and both of them were lost in the music of the piano, as if everything in the world had nothing to do with them. The person who plays the piano has all kinds of choices in his heart; the person who listens to the piano has eyes that are clear and clear.
The two of them sat facing each other. Yi Fengqianqian plucks the strings with her ten fingers, the sound of the piano is like the vibrating of gold and jade, and thousands of artistic conceptions are softly embedded in it. For a moment, the sun did not move, the wind stopped in the forest, and both of them were lost in the music of the piano, as if everything in the world had nothing to do with them. The person who plays the piano has all kinds of choices in his heart; the person who listens to the piano has eyes that are clear and clear.