His father, who didn’t know how to read or follow sheet music, was told by the musicians that staging it was tough. Yet, after only asking them to play twice, he flawlessly performed it, earning their deep admiration.
Qi Shejiang’s fingers lightly plucked the strings, and in a daze, it felt like time had never changed; even his body seemed to recall muscle memory, and every contact with the strings brought a familiar tactile sensation.
Zhang Yue couldn’t help but hum along with Qi Shejiang, his voice flowed like a lake rippling beneath the ice, both piercing and transparent, bearing nuanced and complex emotions, along with a sense of distance and space.
“…Autumn water flows from spring to winter, the sea surface seems to have no difference…” You’ve counted the thirty-nine planed paulownia trees, all just with the wine’s red face.”
Qi Shejiang turned to look at Zhang Yue, the strings matching his tune.
The lingering sound faded, and Zhang Yue and Qi Shejiang gazed at each other for three seconds before simultaneously exclaiming, “You look really good!”
The two then burst into laughter.
Qi Shejiang casually set down the sanxian. “I’ll go boil some hot water, so everyone can wash up later.”
Zhang Yue responded with a “mm,” still squatting in place, and after a moment found it amusing, lowering his head to chuckle a couple of times.
The photographer thought their impromptu collaboration was quite good, but unfortunately, according to the show’s setup, they were destined to be edited to be at odds with each other; otherwise, it wouldn’t live up to the audience’s expectations.
