Everyone in the Grand Theater was astonished that an international master like Carl would actively want to befriend an unknown young girl.
"Huh?" The girl was stunned for quite a while before she reacted: "You can just call me Rosie."
"I wonder if you have time to discuss this piece with me?" Carl hadn't been this excited in years, even more thrilled than when he played in the Golden Hall to instant fame.
Charles Anderson kept observing the smiling girl on stage. Her eyes were clear, her brows relaxed, and her lips were slightly raised. Her features danced and exuded a clever spirit as she spoke.
"To be honest, I heard this piece in a dream. It just sounded good, so I remembered it." The girl casually made up an excuse; Carl clasped his hands in prayer to God, "Amen, did you send a little angel because you heard my heart's voice?"
Rosie Scott looked at Carl's damp eyes, probably reminded of his wife; this piece touched the softest part of a man's heart.
The man looked at Rosie with eyes full of tears and said nothing for a long time. After a moment, he smiled broadly: "Shall I play a piece for you? What would you like to hear?"
Everyone knows it's hard to get a ticket to hear international piano master Carl perform. He is a soul performer, famous worldwide.
Rosie was overwhelmed. She covered her heart with her hands, her crystal eyes sparkling like stars: "Dolden Lake."
"I want to hear you play Dolden Lake with your own hands." She repeated.
Her eyes glowed as she spoke. Carl invited her to sit at the piano; the audience in the theater quickly returned to their seats, all full of anticipation.
The notes floated into Rosie's ears, and a ray of golden light enveloped her turbulent heart; in her previous life, during her five most desperate years, it was with this piece 'Dolden Lake' that she managed to revive her spirits.
The notes stirred memories in her mind.
In a foreign country, her father wouldn't let her work, fearing she would be bullied.
But every time she saw the blisters on her father's palms, her heart was filled with guilt.
"Darling, don't worry, I asked about the school fees here today, they're not too expensive." Her father ate dry bread in big mouthfuls, drinking no water, as if he hadn't eaten all day, his once handsome merchant demeanor now gone.
"You're too young to worry about money. That's what parents consider. In a month, I'll arrange school for you; you can learn if you love acting. Do what you enjoy."
Every night, Rosie would secretly wake up and look at the blisters on her father's hands, tears falling 'pat-pat.' Her father had never done hard labor before; although the family wasn't wealthy, they didn't need to earn by physical work.
She didn't want her father to bear it alone, so she secretly went out to find work.
It was Rosie's first time working, but without documents, she could only labor in some illicit workshops, earning little and often not getting paid.
The wind roared, clouds covered the sky as the girl left a workshop, clutching five euros in her palm, a slap mark on her face from fighting for payment after many unpaid jobs.
A vast square once bustling with street performers, musicians carrying various instruments, never concerned about the amount received; holding an instrument felt like owning the world.
Their souls carried the scent of freedom.
Due to heavy rain, the square was desolate and few were there.
Rain soaked her clothes, the hem whipped in the wind as she staggered through the empty square like a drenched dog, unable to straighten her back; despite midsummer, the evening cold felt icy.
The cold froze her grip on money, losing the mere five euros to the wind.
The five euros landed in a cardboard box placed by an old pianist for tips.
The entire square had only the elderly man absorbed in playing the piano.
He joyfully played with the rain, danced with the wind.
The girl stood before the piano, staring at the money in the box, including her five euros, indistinguishable now.
The old man looked up to see a girl resembling an oriental porcelain doll at the piano sobbing; he had to stop playing.
He stood trembling, with a kind face, walking with wary steps, slightly hunched: "What's wrong, pretty girl?"
Rosie said nothing, only staring at the money box. Her pride wouldn't let her retrieve her money, never feeling this embarrassed.
The old man saw her predicament, bending painfully to lift the box: "Facing difficulties? Take money if you need it, I don't use much."
The girl tightly grasped her pants, biting her lip in tears, then red-eyed looked at the old man: "I don't want your money, my five euros drifted into it. Grandpa, could you play me a tune? Something cheerful."
Wanting something cheerful because life was so bitter; returning five euros would upset her father, so she'd rather spend it.
The old man saw a stubborn girl, touching his heart, facing troubles in a foreign land.
So, the old man played Dolden Lake.
The girl remembered, for a long time, that foreign evening; the square drizzled like smoke, the old man's hair white, clothes washed pale, playing freely at the piano, a crying girl beside him, a tattered box between them loaded with bills.
The girl wiped her eyes on her sleeve, the old man played Dolden Lake five times, saying: "Besides life and death, nothing matters; don't cry, as long as you're alive, there'll be a way."
Rosie collected herself, determined to face reality with her father. They must first survive to talk about dreams.
The notes in the Grand Theater continued to dance, the girl closed her eyes tightly, in a daze, almost seeing the white-haired old man playing happily in the rain.
This time, it was the girl with tears in her eyes, smiling all the while.
The golden light pursued her, Charles watched for a long time, she seemed to have an inexplicable charm; a woman who would manipulate him, now genuinely moved and strikingly radiant.