The interlude began, and the dim big screen on stage suddenly lit up.
Cheng Weiyue saw Zhou Jingwei's face.
He sat next to a wooden, ornate piano, his slender fingers dancing across the black and white keys, with a microphone on the piano rack. He sat there quietly, bathed in light that danced across his face, casting his features like a painting.
And with a lazy, composed posture, he sung an entire song.
Such deep affection and melancholy in Cantonese flowed from his mouth as if it carried even more tenderness and passion.
And this Zhou Jingwei, he matched every girl's fantasy of love from their younger days, extremely beautiful, enough to drown in again and again.
Cheng Weiyue didn't know why, but she felt the corners of her eyes growing moist.
She covered her eyes with her hand, feeling something warm and wet staining her hand.
Pregnancy really did make one fragile and prone to tears.
Cheng Weiyue silently scorned herself in her mind.
