At the bottom of the stage was a lift, and on it sat a white grand piano in serene stillness.
Ling Yue's assistant led Shen You'an through a narrow passageway to enter.
It was dark here, and the space was confined, the passage wide enough for just one person to pass at a time.
Light from the stage streamed through the cracks, casting a few beams that were segmented by the tidy floorboards into limited spaces.
In the flickering beams of light, it seemed as if dust particles were dancing—like mischievous sprites.
Overhead, the articulate and resonant voice of Wang Chiru filtered through a thin panel, sounding both near and distant.
The assistant thought of something: "Aren't you going to do your makeup or change outfits?"
Qin Xiangge was dressed so splendidly, like a princess living in a castle.
And yet Shen You'an wore only a down jacket. At such a solemn occasion, her casualness was a sign of disrespect to both the stage and the audience.
