On National Day, my pianist husband and I agreed to go to Vienna to watch a concert. Before leaving, my husband sent a message that the band had an emergency performance and he couldn't go. I silently canceled all my reservations, but that afternoon, I saw the friend circle of his young female student: In the video, the usually delicate man was standing in the muddy paddy field with his trouser legs rolled up, trying to plant rice with his hands worth tens of millions, covered in mud. The accompanying text was: "The teacher's hands can not only play music in the palace, but also sow hope in the fields." My heart suddenly tightened, and I commented: "This season's rice will surely return to the warehouse, with a sound like the sound of nature." As soon as I sent it, his phone came roaring, "Do you have to use your meanness to destroy a child's pure love for art?" I hung up the phone decisively. After the National Day, let this marriage end too.
