Jiang Shaocheng glanced at the artist's name and was surprised; it was a friend of his. "What makes you say that?"
"I don't know much about art, but art often communicates emotion through its presentation. When I look at the painting, something flickers in my heart, and I want to smile… to laugh… to cry… Am I making sense, dear?" Tang Qiu was torn, unable to express her thoughts clearly.
Jiang Shaocheng held her hand. "And that feeling resonates with you. That's why you were touched. Right, Qiu?"
Tang Qiu was stunned. She wanted to question why she had been struck by such strange emotions, but if she had never experienced them, how could they be so easily–and vividly–triggered by a simple painting? She changed the topic. "The artist is really impressive, to demonstrate such a high level of mastery."
"Qiu, you don't have to hide your emotions from me. If you're happy, you can laugh. If not, you can be sad. Be honest with me." Jiang Shaocheng gazed at her.
