Lin Moxiao gently stroked the name with her fingers, her tender gaze filled with reluctance, sadness, and sorrow.
Jiang Shuya stared at him intently, then walked over and asked, "Do you know this person?"
He raised his eyes, a tear glistening in them, and looked at her: "It's more than just knowing each other."
The two watched quietly for a while before entering the theater, which was already packed with people.
The two quickly found their seats—two in the very center, in the third row, the best view. After they sat down, the performers, each carrying their instrument, came onto the stage. A moment later, the theater fell silent; the brightly lit auditorium was plunged into darkness. Then, a melodious and cheerful tune began to play. The music flowed like a warm, gentle stream into her heart, making her forget her worries and fatigue, and feel comfortable and relaxed. She was quickly captivated. The music was so beautiful; she wondered what instruments were playing it. Looking at the many people on the stage, each holding a different instrument, playing in unison, a vibrant display of talent, she was mesmerized. It was like a poem, a dream. In the beautiful music, she found inner peace and tranquility, enjoying the unique charm and unparalleled joy it brought. When she heard a sorrowful and poignant song, the music seemed like a magical language, touching the deepest emotions within her.
Whether it's a joyful melody or sad lyrics, she can feel the power of music.
Enjoying music is like experiencing a pure dialogue with your soul. Time passed silently, and the opera, consisting of more than twenty pieces, was soon coming to an end. In the last few minutes, a woman in flowing ancient costume came on stage to introduce the final song. She said, "I will present you with the last piece, 'The Tomb of the Passionate,' a work that Mr. Yu completed before his death. It expresses the sorrow of a beautiful woman burying flowers, a deep longing that penetrates to the bone. Love's pain leads to obsession, ultimately without fruition."
After she finished speaking, the room fell silent and darkened. A gentle, lingering melody drifted into her ears, delicate and tender, full of longing and affection, as if expressing a deep yearning and remembrance for a departed friend. The music deeply conveyed the protagonist's inner struggle and pain. By the end of the piece, her eyes were already brimming with tears. Lin Moxiao, sitting beside her, handed her a handkerchief. She took it and wiped her tears, but the tears still flowed uncontrollably, making it difficult for her to calm down.
After a moment, she took a deep breath, her voice a little hoarse: "I'm sorry, I was so engrossed in listening that I couldn't help but shed tears."
"It's alright. Music can understand the heart. You were expressing your feelings." Lin Moxiao said indifferently. He looked at her red, tear-filled eyes, which were like black gems washed by a clear spring, crystal clear and captivating.
He silently recalled that the people who used to accompany him to the theater to watch musicals would fall asleep before the show even ended. They had no way of appreciating the meaning of the music. Every time, he felt a mix of emotions. He grew up surrounded by classical music from his mother. Later, he fell in love with classical music and learned to play several instruments. Classical music cultivated his resolute character and elegant, refined gentlemanly temperament.
Seeing that she still seemed to want more, he said gently, "If you want to see a musical, feel free to contact me anytime, and I'll send you a few more tickets."
The two had already left the Grand Theater. Jiang Shuya was still immersed in the musical she had just watched and hadn't heard what he had said clearly. She blurted out involuntarily, "I wonder if the person who wrote that sad song was also as melancholy, sorrowful, and desperate as the song describes."
Seeing her blank expression, Lin Moxiao said with a heavy heart, "You're right. The person who wrote the song had a very tragic life, even more desperate than you can imagine."
"That person...you know him?" Jiang Shuya asked cautiously.
"Yu Shuwan is my mother," Lin Moxiao said calmly.
"Ah! It's...your mother." Jiang Shuya's eyes widened in disbelief.
She didn't know Yu Shuwan's status in musicals, but she knew that someone who could compose more than twenty operas must be a great composer.
She needs to get to know this person who is willing to be her friend again.
She hesitated for a moment, then thought that even if his mother were still alive, she would be around fifty years old. Could it be that she had passed away from illness, or that something had happened to her? She had just heard the person introducing her on stage say that she was alive before her death, but she swallowed the words back, thinking that she shouldn't pry into his sad story.
She returned the used handkerchief to him; it was a little damp. He looked at her with disgust: "Why didn't you wash it before giving it back to me?"
“You gave it to me willingly. I’m not very careful and I tend to lose things easily. I never have handkerchiefs at home.”
Jiang Shuya didn't think she was being impolite; this was something she could easily lose.
Lin Moxiao is somewhat of a germaphobe, and his actions just now were instinctive. He gripped the handkerchief in his hand tightly, and even felt a little happy.
Jiang Shuya sighed: "There are too many regrets in the world. Although the song just now was mournful and sad, it also reminded lovers that love should be deep and unwavering, love should be a lifelong commitment to one person, and love should be unique."
Lin Moxiao stared intently at her profile, captivated once again by her words. A flicker of excitement crossed his eyes as she parted her lips slightly and began to sing softly: "My eyes are filled with tenderness for you, love is like fallen petals drifting on water, my dreams are filled with holding your hand, my fate is entangled with no way to awaken. I can never repay your kindness in this life, I wish to be reborn as spring mud in the next..." She sang "The Tomb of a Passionate Lover" with lyrics from a version ten years in the future. After finishing, she playfully asked him, "How was it? These lyrics were so heartfelt."
He gazed at her tenderly, stunned for a long while, feeling both sorrow and joy. He was sorrowful because someone who could understand songs so well didn't belong to her, and he had no chance at all. He was joyful because she was still so talented, just like the person he had always admired.
"You sang very well. You perfectly expressed the meaning of the song with your lyrics, making it even more clear and beautiful." Lin Moxiao looked at her with a doting expression.
Jiang Shuya felt his admiration and her heart tightened. She felt a little guilty, after all, she hadn't written the poem herself.
She couldn't say that it only appeared ten years later, so she made up an excuse: "The lyrics weren't something I came up with on my own; I'd heard someone else sing it before. They might not be lyrics from this song, but I just used them."
No matter where you are, songs are only subject to copyright, and there are no restrictions on the same lyrics appearing in two different tunes. For classical music, it is even more free to enjoy. Those who wrote those ancient dictionaries are long gone, and their descendants can certainly use them at will.
"I understand what you mean. It's like the same poem 'Like a Dream' by Li Qingzhao of the Song Dynasty; the two versions have different pronunciations, but each has its own merits." Lin Moxiao
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