I'm in love with Jingfen Ai

I don't know which staff member with an unreliable mouth leaked the news that Zhang Tingyu had come to the scene.Almost in the blink of an eye, the news that "Chu Jinhui was kicked out of the variety show" spread across many websites.

Toutiao Baijia published more than 100 drafts within half an hour.The staff in charge of propaganda were shocked and helpless.Dozens of publicity draws have been made, but none of the clear news has worked.

At this time, the director was talking to Zhang Tingyu on the second floor.The stage below can be seen from the glass windows on the second floor.The actors are still unaware of the outside world, immersed in their own scripts.

Chu Jin sat in the remotest place among the crowd, but Zhang Tingyu saw him immediately.He propped his chin with one hand, and slowly turned the pen with the other hand to read the script. The light in the room seemed to be particularly partial to him, and the light and shadow were just right, illuminating the corners of his smiling lips.

The glass window props all over the venue refracted the sunlight outside in a grotesque manner, like spring flowers blooming vigorously outside the stadium.

It was only when Chu Jin took the stage that Zhang Tingyu looked away.He put his hands on the edge of the table slightly, turned his head to look at the director who was looking at him firmly, the usual dandy smile on his face disappeared, and said calmly: "That's it. I will deal with objections."

The director nodded silently, and went downstairs to stare at the scene.

Chu Jin played the role of an artist struggling in the flames of war.

He survived the horrific bombing, but lost his eyesight, and stayed in the attic full of cobwebs day and night, living only on the bread and water in the attic.

Until one day, there was no food around, and there was a hail of bullets from the enemy outside, so he had no choice but to bite the bullet and walk down from the second floor of the safe attic to explore the first floor.

He found a piano on the ground floor—with just one stroke he could picture all its details in his mind.

with a stranger.In times like these, strangers represent danger.

"Have you heard of One Thousand and One Nights?" the stranger asked him, "If you play well, I can let you go."

A cruel king could not sleep every day, he would kill a girl every day, until he met Scheherazade and told him a story.The king couldn't bear to kill him after hearing the story until the thousand and one nights.Finally get married.

The artist sits in front of the piano, his auricles, his fingers, and his hair and brows are blurred and beautiful in the dim sunlight of the attic.What sounded was the song he had played countless times, the dream wedding.

The stranger listened in silence.

This is a rare peace in the flames of war.In the bombing of the country where corpses were strewn across the fields, blood splashed on the beautiful flower windows of the past, those exiled people who lost their names seemed to have restored their old appearance in the gentle sound of the piano.

The artist once played this piece in the National Auditorium. At that time, he was famous all over the world. Amidst the flowers and applause, he performed this piece happily and dreamily.

But at this time, hunger and cold tortured his body, his blind eyes cut off his spiritual supply, and he was lingering in the chaotic world. Exile did not kill his body, but made his spirit suppressed to the extreme!Every note jumps and splashes with intense emotion, it is a performance full of passion and pain.

When the song ended, he didn't leave his seat for a long time.His hands are still resting on the keys.

It seems that I wandered in the world of black and white keys countless times when I was young.

"I will provide you with water and food," said the stranger gently.

Strangers would come at six or seven in the morning and leave at six o'clock, come at four or five in the evening and leave at six or seven in the evening.

Every time he left, at seven o'clock in the evening, the snow-white moonlight flowers just opened.

They're anywhere in the attic, taking a walk, or discussing what's going on.Those disconnected stairs, strangers would hold him.The flower windows in the attic let the sunlight through every day very lightly, like a shadow, not enough to warm any place, but still able to illuminate this dilapidated corner.

They spent ten or so days that were frightening and warm.How rare this is in this day and age.The artist will play a song for the stranger when he leaves, as a reward for food and water.

Sometimes, very occasionally, strangers would drop their composure and whisper to him: "How abominable war is, you should have played to tens of thousands of people in any country's auditorium."

They will discuss art, love, and life. They are surprisingly consistent and yet so different.They also love music. Strangers think that music should be open to the whole world, but artists now think that it is not bad to open to a bosom friend.The same dislike of war, strangers look forward to the post-war reconstruction, but the artist is immersed in the pre-war dream.

If you snuggle up close to the flower window, no matter how weak the sunlight falls on your body, you will feel warm.

Another day, the stranger did not come.

This is not very unusual.This is an era of war and chaos. No one can guarantee that he will live until after the war.

I don't know how many days later, the rescue arrived in time, and the artist was sent to the rescued crowd.His identity was discovered, and after several twists and turns, he finally had a job that he could earn a living, even though it had nothing to do with music.

He told many people that he was helped by a stranger, but he was never found.Who knows, maybe it's dead, said the person who registered to find someone.

The artist never saw the man's face.He finally gave up and accepted the fact that the opponent had died in the war.

Five years later, when the war was over, the artist was invited to go abroad, where he would perform to tens of thousands of people in state halls abroad.In spring, sunflowers full of hope and the sun will bloom here.He will also have surgery here to heal his eye.

One day, he passed a prison camp where all enemy officers had been put on the battlefield.According to the guards, because of some disputes, it will take a few days before the execution is completed after the document process is completed.

The artist didn't care, until he heard a voice asking him, can you play it again, the dream wedding?

Of course, he turned around and was almost hit by a huge surprise, he asked, you work here?How many days off do you have?

Rest, after the execution, you can rest for a long time.said the stranger.

Wait for me for a few days, okay?asked the artist.Of course he can play now, but at this time his eyes have not recovered, and he can't see the other party's face.If you leave a promise to meet again when your eyesight is restored, you won't be unable to find someone again.

Well, the other party said, I will wait here until I rest.

Their conversations are always so easy to carry on, so understanding.The artist arranged the eye surgery at the speed of the wind blowing through the trees.He can't wait.It's unbelievable that they all survived the war.

After five days.The artist came out of the hospital and rushed to the prison by car.His piano is coming soon.His vision is gradually recovering, and he can already see light vaguely.

The prison is already close at hand. It is evening, almost seven o'clock, and it is early autumn. By seven o'clock, it will be completely dark.The artist thought to himself, let him see the person he wants to see with his new eyes in the evening when the remaining light is left, before the night.

They will talk about the future in the melody of "Dream Wedding".The other side always likes to talk about reconstruction after the war.Now is the time to rebuild!

He couldn't wait to get out of the car, when he suddenly heard rows of gunshots in the prison yard.Like rows of flowers blooming, on the germanium-colored walls, blood-red bunches are about to drip, and then flow down.

It's seven o'clock, and the bright red sprinkles into the snow-white blooming moonlight flowers.The night completely shrouded it, wrapping the entire spinning world in an impenetrable tranquility.

The artist took a step forward, and there was no one in the prison, only flying pieces of black paper, like pages of burnt-out photos, drifting along the wind and filling the entire execution ground.

The artist opened his docile eyes, Danfeng eyes scanned the fallen bodies one by one, and looked away casually.Catch up, he thought.

A little later, maybe the other party will rest and never come here again.They will never meet again.

After a while, the prison became lively.With the blood washed away and the unnamed corpses dragged away, the crowd sat in shock and anticipation for the famous artist to play.

His piano has arrived.The artist sat down.

There were a lot of people around, and when the faces were scanned, there were hundreds of people. He wondered if he had missed it, and he couldn't match any of them.So he asked, what do you want to hear?

Some say Canon, some say Mozart.More people just looked at him ignorantly.

He nodded, and asked the officer beside him who was waiting for assistance: Is the cremation finished?

The officer realized that he was concerned about the execution of the prisoners in the execution ground, and he thought about these compassionate artists, but he still replied respectfully: "The cremation is complete. We have followed the international regulations and have not violated the regulations."

No, said the artist, I mean, I mean, I mean, those boxes of ashes, send them here.

He will leave at seven o'clock in the evening, when the moonlight blooms.

While he was gone, the artist would play a piece as payment.

In the dense night, the notes are like drops of kisses, and those flying black confetti have not landed for a long time.

……

Zhang Tingyu came down from upstairs just in time to hear the last song "Dream Wedding".

On the stage in the darkness, glow-like lights burst out, gradually lighting up the entire venue.Strips of sunlight poured in through the shutters, and the applause continued for a long time.

Chu Jin walked out amidst the applause, his eyes passed through the crowd at the scene, and the cameras that were constantly flashing in front of him, and suddenly looked at Zhang Tingyu who was standing on the stairs on the second floor.Just a glance, and soon Chu Jin moved away, waiting for the program team to score.

Zhang Tingyu was dazed for a moment, thinking of the snowy winter day on the long street for no reason, he ran from the end of the long street, and under the lens full of guests at this time, his distant gaze, like a Gundam mech laser gun, shot him The door of my heart is burning open.

It can't be closed for many days.

Chu Jin glanced at him, but there was no other reason.

It just suddenly occurred to me that when I left Blue Star and was sentenced to death, at that time, the heart of AI that was running the entire planet suddenly opened its eyes and looked at Chu Jin.

The author has something to say: I only wish to leave two eyes in front of the remaining light to see you "The Coldest Day"

Three more √ I don’t know why it hasn’t been displayed, post it again?

感谢在2021-03-2017:59:41~2021-03-2023:21:06期间为我投出霸王票或灌溉营养液的小天使哦~

Thanks to the little angel who threw the landmine: there is one guitar in my life;

Thank you very much for your support, I will continue to work hard!