And Chopin's days of playing the wind spectrum month

【Ballade】

Putting down the dry towel to wipe off the moisture on his body, Chopin opened the closet and changed his outfit again.

Although it has been almost a week since he was "exiled" from No. 38 Anting Street, when the young man returned to the room on the second floor, he found that the furnishings inside were clean.Even though he hasn't lived here recently, his room is still cleaned up every day.This made his already sunny mood a little more fragrant.

It was Ms. Pettit's suggestion to set foot here again.Her original words were "Go up and change into dry clothes, so as not to catch a cold", Chopin ignored the possible irony in her voice, and only regarded it as an awkward concern.

After all, when he opened the door, everything in the room remained the same as when he left—except for a few more folded clothes in the cabinet, which he changed and sent to be cleaned before he left.

While living here, Chopin's part as a musician was completely shut down.Except for clothes, all things related to music will not appear here at all, and even some very personal items of the Poles, such as his gold pocket watch and the pot of Polish soil, were not brought here for fear of revealing their identity.

If there is a good development and ending this time, he must move quickly and live in this small building completely.

After buttoning the last cuff button, Chopin re-styled his hair with his fingers.The moisture had almost dissipated, he opened the door and went downstairs gracefully.

The room gave him some confidence, at least Aurora didn't hate him, thanks to the rainy day for giving him the possibility to break through the ice.What Liszt said is indeed true. Sometimes showing weakness and pretending to be pitiful will indeed have different rewards.

Perhaps because of the background of the rain outside the window, the sound of Aurora playing the piano on Playera was slightly dull.Chopin stopped and leaned on the banister to admire her piano.

The tone of the melody is very stable, and the strength of the arm is transmitted to the fingertips. Each sound is neither floating nor too loud, but has enough weight.

Pieces of snowflakes fell slowly, and when the winter wind blew, they hit the face head-on, slowly melted into water, slid down the arc of the skin, found the only gap and got into the neck, leaving a piece of ice cold.

Listening, Chopin's brows gradually frowned.

This is a piece of music that he has never heard before, to be exact, he has never even seen the score.The musical form is not difficult to recognize, it is a nocturne that he played a lot in the salon.His subtle emotions are not due to Aurora playing badly, on the contrary, her interpretation is precise and appropriate.

Chopin just didn't like the melody.

The proportion of syncopated semitones is like a delicately carved mood.But translating it, whether it is given to the fingertips or the ears, it feels uncomfortable to walk, and it sounds uncomfortable-not unpleasant, and it is undeniable that it even has another style of beauty.The young man felt as if he was trekking hard in the heavy snow, and the thick snow under his feet devoured the strength of his legs step by step.He struck the last match on his body, showing a flashing smile in the bitter wind.After the flame was extinguished, in the icy white, only the sound of his deep breathing diffused into the aftertaste.

What exactly has Aurora experienced?

Why is this suffocating emotion so real?

With his heart wrinkled into a mess, the young man rushed over, firmly took the position next to the girl, and grabbed the hand she was about to let go.

The heat of his palm finally allowed him to escape from the depressive cold whiteness.He increased the pressure on his fingers, staring at the keyboard to adjust his breathing.

"Aurora, don't play this kind of nocturne with the breath of Siberian winter in the future, I don't like this kind of dialogue at all...

"Listen, I'll never let you be left alone in a blizzard—no despair, understand?"

The young man didn't look into the girl's eyes, didn't see her astonishment and shock.

With both hands attached to the keys, he re-created the beginning of another new nocturne on the keyboard with the lingering palpitations of the nocturne just now.

"I like to add melancholy colors to Nocturne, but melancholy should be limited..."

He stopped playing, closed his eyes and meditated, and then quickly moved his fingers on the keys, blooming a small flower of hope in the haze.

"I like this ending. Aurora, I will always be by your side. You can be melancholy, but you will never despair."

When the 20-year-old Rachmaninoff wrote "Nocturne in A Minor", this musical form had long since declined. He used it to talk to Chopin, who he played in his childhood, but he wrote it in despair.

The 26-year-old Chopin improvised the framework of the "Nocturne in F Minor" that he would not complete nine years later by an accident that could not be reproduced. He started with melancholy and ended gently with optimism and hope.

The rain just ended here.Except for the sound of water dripping from the corner of the eaves, the baptized world is quiet and peaceful.

As the sky gradually brightened, Chopin sat in front of the piano like this, his blue eyes full of commitment and warmth.

—No one can escape these eyes.

—No one is immune to this tenderness.

——No one would not like such a him.

The girl machine nodded docilely, and then chose to back away from the young man's hot gaze.

He watched her jump up and go to the desk in front of her to draw paper and pick up a pen to write and draw. After she put down the pen, she rummaged through the bookcase behind before returning to the piano.

An extra gleaming louis d'or on dark brown walnut.

Chopin blinked and cast a questioning look.Aurora remained silent, but smiled at him again.

She raised her hand and unfolded the paper.

The black and white paper was handed to him.

"I'm still angry, and I don't want to talk to you for the time being... In case of inevitable communication, I will use pen and paper instead, or just speak 'Pikachu' to you.

"That is the louis d'or you gave me. Mr. Chopin, according to your suggestion, I have come to you for a lesson."

French made a charming voice between his lips and teeth, and the young man pointed at the golden louis with his finger, as if time had returned to the season when roses were in full bloom.

"Pi-ka-cho?"

Aurora leaned over, splitting each syllable, in a lovely, rising pitch.

Chopin was captivated by that last monosyllable - she didn't use "", let alone "chu" on paper, but a clear "cho".To him, it was as if she was calling "Xiao" affectionately.

How cunning...

He withdrew his hand, tilted his head slightly, and imitated her speech.

"Pika... Pikachu."

……

Piano lessons didn't go as planned.

After Chopin saw Aurora's bright eyes, Petit called for them to come and prepare lunch before she could respond.

Perhaps waiting until lunch is over before offering to start piano lessons will allow them to last longer.

The beautiful reverie of the young man sitting at the dining table was completely shattered when the girl opened the huge porcelain cup.

Chopin stiffly picked up the napkin that was going to be spread on his lap. The smell of butter and exotic spices was so "special" that it was beyond his nose.He glanced at the porcelain cup, the thick layer of oil and the floating corpse of a piece of dried red pepper directly petrified his fingers.The napkin fell on the lap in an instant, extremely uneven and inelegant.

Turning his head stunned, he watched in horror as Aurora put down the lid of the cup with a satisfied face, and then opened another bottle—same formula, same taste, white porcelain and that full of bright red complementing each other, perfect visual beauty, Full marks for mind impact.

Chopin sucked in a breath, swallowing with difficulty the water that did not exist in the cavity.

Are you kidding——

Are these edible?Is it really edible?Two means... one for me and Aurora or is this just for me?

This overwhelming chili is simply beyond the capacity of a normal person.

The sluggish young man could no longer imagine the taste of these two big bowls of red soup.His tongue was trembling and screaming to go on strike, his heart was almost scared into a ball of high notes, and his soul almost ran away from home.

God, what gave me the illusion that "Aurora has already forgiven Chopin"...

This lunch, this "Sichuan cuisine" - the Holy Mother of Mercy, does she want me to go to God and play the piano for him?I'd rather write ten pages of good things about Beethoven!

The two slender wooden sticks were manipulated by the girl's nimble fingertips, and the young man watched in amazement as she drove them into the red soup.With a movement of her finger, the wooden stick stirred the red soup, and the oil layer pushed the flakes of chili to make shallow waves, and the more real spicy smell hit his nostrils, which almost made his heart stop.

The white meat was hung with warm-colored thin oil, and Aurora firmly placed it on the dinner plate in front of Chopin.The spices and the oil sprayed on the white porcelain plate directly stimulated his blue eyes, which were full of horror.

The girl took out a small piece of paper from a pencil box from nowhere, and put the handwriting on the side of the young man's dinner plate as if offering a treasure.

"Fish slices. The other cup contains tender beef slices. Do you want to try it?"

Chopin refused, shaking his head like a rattle.

"It's a pity... After all, you like to eat fish, so I wish you a happy meal."

Chopin took a deep breath, only to find the little love drawn at the end of this sentence extremely ironic.

This is fish?

Dear Aurora, you made the fish in a way beyond my understanding, I think I will not like to eat fish from now on...

The girl quickly piled up a small white and red pyramid on her plate with serving chopsticks, and the butter in the stone was like a flash of light falling on the pyramid.

The young listener hummed happily and contentedly, and could hardly believe that this devilish practice could make her feel so happy.

As if exhausting all his courage, Chopin picked up his fork tremblingly and broke the so-called fish into small pieces.

He picked up the smallest piece, built up his mind for half a minute, and finally closed his eyes and resolutely fed it into his mouth.

Well!

The fork slipped from his hand and hit the porcelain plate with a crisp sound.Chopin grabbed the napkin on his lap and covered his mouth to prevent himself from spitting it out rudely.

The spicy taste exploded in the mouth along the coating of the tongue, instantly defeating him.He quickly swallowed the ball of meat, and the flame-like burning burned down his throat into his stomach, and then ignited his heart and lungs.

He could hardly control himself, tears welled up in his eyes in an instant, and all his original elegance and calmness collapsed.

A glass of snow-white milk appeared in front of him as if to save his life, and it was the first time that Chopin poured it heavily regardless of his image.

The girl hesitated and handed over the third note: "I thought... the spiciness of the Espelette red pepper is still mild?"

The young man's hoarse voice was humble and sincere, with a distressing cry: "Aurora, I will never hide from you... anything, I swear."