Juliet Tower

An Jiayu handed him a bottle of purified water, and thoughtfully unscrewed the lid half a turn, and let him hold it firmly before letting go.

Qiao Yu saw the dejected pot of flowers on the window sill in his peripheral vision. It obviously belonged to a different family and genus from the mother shrub downstairs, with yellow leaves and black spots on the stems.

The noon light was shining directly, and he kindly stepped forward to give half a bottle of water to the dry soil in the flowerpot, but when he took a closer look, he almost threw the bottle out.

The leaves are densely covered with scary red spots, and they are still slowly wriggling when you look closely.

He retreated two meters away in an instant: "An... An Jiayu..." He was in a bad mood, and insects were one of his few fatalities. "This flower, take it out and throw it away..."

"Huh? Why, is it not working?"

Hua is indeed dying, the cause of death is unknown... But at the same time, something else is thriving.

Qiao Yumian squeezed the bottle until it rattled, but she really didn't want to get in, so she reminded her from a distance: "Look carefully at the leaves..."

An Jiayu glanced in surprise, walked to the window sill and bent down.

The other party was much calmer than he had imagined, the tip of his nose was only a few centimeters away from the leaves. After seeing it clearly, he only gave a soft "噫" and took up the flowerpot calmly: "This seems to be called a red spider. Tsk, the rose is a sick seedling. Something went wrong every three days... just wait for me, I'll take it downstairs to see if it can be saved."

Qiao Yumian is very sure at this moment that the human heart in front of him is too big to be suitable for raising any living things.

Not long after An Jiayu came back, the pot of dragonflies was gone, and he was not empty-handed. He was holding two succulents in his arms that were growing gratifyingly. The jade green leaves were thick and crystal clear under the light.

"Ms. Liu said that this one is easier to grow, just water it and bask in the sun." An Jiayu threw the small flowerpot on the windowsill casually, turned around and walked in front of him, and handed the flute case: "Come on, hurry up. "

Qiao Yumian was not in a hurry to pick it up, but immediately set about tidying up the slightly messy desk in front of her, revealing a flat and clean tabletop, and went into the bathroom to wash and dry her hands carefully to ensure that they were clean and dry. After half a minute of chewing gum, I took the box carefully, laid it flat on the table, opened it, took out the flute, and assembled it carefully avoiding the buttons.

An Jiayu was a little dumbfounded: "Well, it's not so pious..."

He didn't reply, he puffed his cheeks like a pufferfish, relaxed his mouth and tongue, then put his lips on the lip pad and blown his mouth, took a deep breath, felt the thoracic diaphragm subside, and made extra space for the lungs.

Breath is the root of the flute.

Having not practiced for a long time, he exhaled evenly and made a clear and stable long note.

Exhausted in one breath, followed by another one.

"The breath is very steady." An Jiayu stared at him and said slowly, "It's been 17 seconds."

Qiao Yumian blinked and looked around distractedly. There was no time display tool around him, so how did he know how long it had passed?

After the long note practice, he moved his fingers and began to practice the chromatic scale, followed by etudes, Kohler's etude op33 volume [-], which he had repeated hundreds of times, he picked out at random.

An Jiayu sat at the table with her chin propped up, suddenly she couldn't bear to blink.

Qiao Yumian's state was completely different from that afternoon when the orchestra rehearsed for the first time. He was far away from the crowd, and his whole body was much more relaxed and calm. A moment ago, there was a shallow depression under the corner of the right mouth, which was a unilateral pear dimple.

The moment he met his gaze, the coherent scale stopped for half a beat. Qiao Yumian's expression remained unchanged, but he turned slightly and turned sideways to him.

An Jiayu was afraid that he would be uncomfortable, so he turned to look at the enlarged, hazy silhouette of his shadow cast on the wall.

He felt in a daze that if this scene could be recorded with a camera, it would be very beautiful, but using Kohler etude as the background somewhat spoiled the atmosphere.

"It's almost the etude, let's change it." He stopped.

Qiao Yumian cast a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, and then the flute remained on her mouth, changing to Mozart's Flute Concerto No. [-] in D major, a virtuoso piece for the flute.

And the performance of the performers is really good, breath, rhythm, fingering, speed, all reveal proficiency and meticulous craftsmanship.

But when I listened to it, I felt that the taste was not right. Except that the gorgeous skills were preserved, the melody was neither lively nor clear, and Qiao Yumian's expression was even less turbulent, like an AI playing according to a preset program.

The strange thing is that there is actually a kind of violating harmony that is pleasing to the eye.

Qiao Yumian didn't have any intention of showing off his skills, not to mention that he was just an amateur player, and he was a toddler in front of professional players.The reason why he chose this piece was simply because it was a must-choice piece for his tenth grade exam back then, and it was also the only piece of classical music that he could play off the score after such a long time.

The previous relationship dates back to the summer vacation of the first year of junior high school.

At that time, Qiao Zhe disappeared, and Li Huijun had nowhere to vent his energy, so he naturally focused on his son.

While others were watching cartoon idol dramas, Qiao Yumian was playing the flute.During the break between reviewing for the final exam, he was still playing the flute.The sound of cicadas sounded outside the window, the summer vacation was coming as promised, and there were noises from the children downstairs. He was still locked at home, playing the flute alone.Afterwards, from the end of June to the day of the grade examination in August, Thunderbolt played six hours a day, playing a few tunes back and forth, creating an indelible muscle memory.But the increasingly proficient skills did not comfort the mother at all. Li Huijun next to the music stand still had a sad face, and the Sichuan pattern was almost burned into the woman's forehead since then.

"...Wait..." An Jiayu stood up abruptly, and gently pinched his elbow, "You, this... blows like an etude..." After finishing speaking, he couldn't help laughing, Then, he took the flute from his hand and put it directly on his lips.

...the mouthpiece has not been wiped.

Before Qiao Yumian had time to remind, the same melody sounded.

The speed is not as fast as his, but the melody is as light as clouds swimming in the wind.But just a few phrases and a few breaths, Qiao Yumian's eyes inexplicably appeared in front of the picture, the small water splashes stepped on by the small animals by the stream splashed on the surface of his skin, bringing refreshment and joy.

"This concerto was written by Mozart when he was 21 years old. At that time, full of longing for freedom, he embarked on a trip to Paris with his mother and met like-minded friends on the way. So the mood of the whole piece is Very agile and melodious." An Jiayu paused, returned the flute, and finally remembered something, withdrew his hand suddenly, grabbed the soft flute cleaning cloth from the opened box lid, rubbed the mouthpiece carefully, and then handed it to him again ,"try again?"

Qiao Yumian took it, the mouthpiece was bright, and she touched the edge of her lips. The temperature of the metal residue seemed to be slightly different. The breath left by the previous player had not dissipated completely, and there was a vague peach smell lingering.

When he was just cleaning up the table, he did see a mouth spray with a peach pattern rolling to the corner of the table, it must be that smell.

Not as refreshing as mint, slightly sweet, it seems to be similar to the floral fragrance he just smelled.

He pressed his fingers lightly, distracted inadvertently.

"Well, it's much better than before. Mozart's parents were still alive at that time, and they didn't experience much hardship in life." The other party nodded in satisfaction, squatted down and crawled to the corner, dragged out the violin case standing there and put it on the chair, "Blow You can try to find a memory as a basis before, such as a certain performance or practice that made you happy."

An Jiayu quickly turned on the computer, found the violin score of the concerto and compared it with the score: "Try it?"

Qiao Yumian is not very good at reading scores, but An Jiayu's expression is easy to understand.

The violin laid out a bright tone, and before the flute entered the verse, the other party suddenly raised his eyes to meet him, raised his eyebrows and whispered, "Get ready."

You can easily see the unadorned encouragement in An Jiayu's eyes.

Although he still hasn't found any beautiful fragments related to the flute from his memory, but at this moment, he is infected by the pleasant atmosphere, propelled him, and entered the melody logically.

In fact, there is a big gap between their standards, but this section is so harmonious that Qiao Yumian suddenly feels that he has half a foot into the ranks of professional performers, at least that's what the other party's eyes show. "tao-zi-huang"

Throughout the whole noon, they met many times, and there was no accusation or unhappiness about their mistakes. An Jiayu didn't look like a rigorous instructor at all, but seemed to be playing with him: "Wrong." He pouted, "Do it again. "

"...No, it's your fault here." Qiao Yumian compared the screen with the flute tail.

"Ah... Really..." He stuck out his tongue again, "Actually, I haven't practiced the violin part much."

The hearty performance made Qiao Yumian feel hot and even hungry.

"An Jiayu." Before leaving, he opened the score of the second movement of Dvořák No. [-], which was forgotten by the man, "I didn't practice enough."

That person is obviously the type who doesn't care about his interests, and he woke up like a dream after being reminded: "Ah, I forgot... It's okay, anyway, this song is much simpler. I will go to you in the second self-study class on Thursday. Your level should be the same if you practice a day in advance. It is estimated that other people are also the same, waiting for the day of the ensemble to cram their feet."

The author says:

That, indirectly...