Chapter 442 Moving a Stone to Crush One’s Own Foot (3)
For Qin Dingshan, the temptation was too great. Thus, he remained silent, indirectly consenting to Qin Jia’s nonsense.
An Yiqing did not choose the piano. She lowered her head and whispered something into the ear of a staff member. Shortly after, three staff members carefully carried a guzheng into the hall.
They carefully set up the guzheng and then respectfully retreated.
Under the breathless gaze of the audience, An Yiqing gracefully walked to the guzheng and sat down elegantly. She lifted her head, gave a light smile to the guests below, and her jade-white fingers gently plucked the strings, as the clear sound of the guzheng began to resonate softly.
As a few notes entered the piece, the audience was astonished to discover that An Yiqing was playing the very same piece as Qin Jia, "Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai," seemingly indifferent to playing this song during Gu Yelin’s proposal.
As the crystalline melody gradually unfolded, the audience’s wandering thoughts slowly vanished, immersing themselves in the poignant score.
The entire banquet hall was quiet, except for the clear and pleasant sound of the guzheng, with everyone reluctant to make any extraneous noise. The lady in the red dress sitting silently before the guzheng, with slender arms and jade-white fingers tenderly caressing the strings, each gesture filled with restrained elegance as she played "Liang Zhu" with a unique expression.
Gradually, the tune began to change, and the relaxing atmosphere took on a tinge of sorrow. It was as if everyone were transported into the story of the pair transforming into butterflies, witnessing the lovers’ constant struggles and separations, their fight against social conventions, sacrificing their lives, and breaking through taboos with their blood and deep affection to become butterflies in flight.
Although everyone was in a position of power, there was a soft spot in their hearts, preserving those precious emotions. The mournful "Liang Zhu" seemed to take everyone back to that year when their feelings first bloomed, filled with lingering affection.
As the piece neared its end, everyone’s eyes were red, immersed in the sorrow of the butterflies, waiting for the final lament.