The woman looked at him with a smile.
Hair tied into a bun, curved willow-like eyebrows, hoarse eyes.
It was such eyes.
Every time she ordered him to play the piano, she would show such eyes.
At this moment, Su Ming'an felt like he was back to the countless nights of practicing the "Moonlight Sonata"... Ding-ling, ding-ling, the grainy sound of the piano seemed like falling moonlight. When he looked up out of the window, he could see the moon hidden behind the dark clouds. His palms were burning with pain, unable to distinguish whether the keys were white or red.
When he was young, he didn't understand why his parents always argued about "money," as if this term possessed countless magic powers. Even the most loving divine couples couldn't escape this curse. "Money" was a sharp blade that could cut through all the promises of love.
It wasn't until he saw his mother wailing over a bag of rotten vegetables, like a string suddenly broke, that he vaguely realized something.
