Siheyuan: tomb robbing? I am serious about hunting.

Chapter 988 Daily life

As the heavenly soldiers surrounded Laurel Mountain, Xiyao sat beneath a tree repairing Yuechen's jade flute. The flute had fallen from the tree while he was asleep, leaving a small chip on the end. "You can capture me, but let me first." He walked over to Xiyao and naturally took the flute from her hand. "One last step." He dipped his fingertips in his own spiritual power and patched the final chip. The flute was restored to its original state, even more lustrous than before. The heavenly soldiers looked at each other in bewilderment, and finally retreated to the heavens in disgrace. Xiyao looked at Yuechen and suddenly noticed that the silver hair at his temples shone pearly in the moonlight—the tidal spiritual power she had passed on to him over the past century. "Aren't you supposed to sleep for a thousand years?" Her tears fell on the back of his hand. "I hear someone crying under the tree all the time, and I can't sleep." He smiled and raised his hand to wipe her tears, the warmth of his fingertips finally returning to her. "Besides, my tide must be waiting impatiently." "After that day, a small sea appeared in the barrier of Yuegui Mountain. It was the water of the East China Sea that Xiyao attracted with her spiritual power, and there were glowing fish in the sea water. When Yuechen sat on the rocks on the shore and played the flute, the fish would circle around his clothes, as if dancing a silent dance. Later, the Emperor of Heaven sent someone to deliver an edict of reconciliation, saying that bygones were not to be blamed. Yuechen simply folded the edict into a paper boat and put it into the sea: "The rules of the three realms are not as good as a trace of frost between the brows of my beloved. "Xiyao took the shells off the silver chain and hung them on the branches of the laurel tree. When the wind blew, the shells would make the sound of the tide, mixed with the sweet fragrance of osmanthus, and echoed in the valley for a long time. Once, a little mermaid from the East China Sea came to deliver pearls and saw Yuechen combing Xiyao's hair with a jade flute. His movements were very light, and when his wide sleeves swept across the sea, the waves stirred up were filled with the fragrance of osmanthus. The little mermaid secretly told Prime Minister Turtle: "The sea of Laurel Mountain is gentler than the East China Sea." One Mid-Autumn Festival a thousand years later, the flowers of Laurel Mountain were in full bloom. Xiyao leaned on Yuechen's shoulder, looking at the osmanthus flowers falling all over the sky, and suddenly remembered the tassels on his clothes when they first met. "Do you think we will live as long as this laurel tree?" Yuechen put the jade flute to his lips and blew a new tune: "As long as the tides don't stop and the laurel flowers bloom, we will always be here. "As he spoke, the spiritual power at his fingertips seeped into the pearls on her temples. Those pearls condensed from sea water suddenly scattered, turned into stars in the sky, and fell among the branches of the laurel tree. Xiyao saw that there was a picture hidden in each star - the first time she set foot on Laurel Mountain, her figure guarding outside the barrier while he was asleep, and the dusk when they released paper boats in the small sea together. "These are what I dreamed of when I fell asleep." Yuechen held her hand, "There is always the sound of tides in my dreams, and I followed the sound and found you. "Late at night, Xiyao heard the roots of the laurel tree gently stretching in the soil. New roots had already grown from the broken ends, entwining the shells she had buried that year. The sound of the tide in the shells and Yuechen's heartbeat merged together, like a ballad that would never end. She suddenly understood that the so-called eternity was not the loneliness that remained unchanged for thousands of years, but that someone was willing to wake up from their sleep for you, that the tide remembered the fragrance of the laurel, and that the laurel understood the tide's yearning. Just like the osmanthus flowers falling in their hair at this moment, each one contained two words - home. As the moonlight spread over the ridge, Yuechen's flute sounded again. . The tune this time is very new, but it carries the rhythm of the tide, as if to say: Mountains and seas can be leveled, years can be crossed, as long as it is you in the end, it doesn’t matter if it is late. The echoing waves came from the East China Sea in the distance, as gentle as a long sigh. I saw an old Chinese lady in the front row wiping her tears, holding a small five-star red flag in her hand. On the day of the award ceremony, Lin Yanqiu was wearing a rented dress and standing on the podium. The gold medal hung around her neck, heavy, like an ear of wheat during the autumn harvest in her hometown. Her acceptance speech was simple: "I want to dedicate this song to all those who shine in the dark." Someone backstage asked her for an autograph. It was a little blonde girl holding a music score: "Can you teach me to play your anonymous etude?" Lin Yanqiu smiled and nodded, and suddenly saw the director in the crowd. He was holding a piano case in his hand, which was the case of the old piano in her hometown. "Your mother asked someone to send it to her." The director handed her the piano case, "She said you didn't bring the music score when you left. "I opened the piano case, and there was no music score inside. Only a pair of half-knitted cloth shoes. The stitches on the soles were neatly arranged, like the black and white squares on the piano keys. There was also a note written by a neighbor: "Your mother said, come home when you are tired of playing. The osmanthus flowers in our yard are more fragrant than those in Warsaw. "Lin Yanqiu squatted on the ground holding the violin case, tears falling on her cloth shoes. She suddenly understood that so-called talent is never innate luck. It is the patience of her mother when she was sewing the soles of shoes, the light that refused to go out in the old piano room, and every day and night of polishing on the keys - those seemingly ordinary persistence will eventually turn into a galaxy that illuminates the way forward at some point. Half a year later, Lin Yanqiu held a solo concert at the National Grand Theater. During the encore, she did not play the award-winning "Concerto in F Minor", but sat at the piano and gently pressed the notes of the anonymous etude. When the piano sounded, the audience fell silent. People saw the young pianist, his fingertips jumping on the keys, as if stroking some precious treasure. Her wrists no longer trembled, and her eyes no longer had the timidity when they first met, only the gentleness and determination polished by time. After the concert, a reporter asked her the secret of her success. Lin Yanqiu pointed to the old violin case in the corner of the stage: "The secret is inside. "There were no silver knuckles or award certificates in it, only the pair of cloth shoes and a yellowed photo - she and her mother were standing in front of the old piano in their hometown, smiling like two sunflowers facing the wind. Later, someone discovered in Chopin's manuscripts that the anonymous etude was actually a birthday gift he wrote for his mother and had never been made public. What Lin Yanqiu didn't know was that the teacher of the department head at the time was a pianist who fled from Warsaw. Before his death, he said: "This song should be left to those who truly understand it. "When she went to Poland to perform again, Lin Yanqiu made a special trip to Chopin's former residence. In front of the old piano, she gently played the etude. The sunlight fell on the piano keys through the window lattice, like a layer of gold. In a trance, she seemed to see her mother sitting on the chair opposite, mending the soles of shoes with her head down. The sound of sewing and the sound of the piano keys intertwined, like a ballad that would never end. She finally understood that the real stage is never just the glory under the spotlight, but every moment of trying one's best for what one loves, and the thoughts and courage hidden in the notes. Just like the keys under her fingertips, in the black and white interwoven lines, what is hidden is never an unattainable dream.