At that moment, Qingxue heard footsteps and turned around in a daze, discovering that the person who came in was Beitang.
She suppressed the daze on her face, intending to resume playing the piece.
But Beitang pressed his hand on the piano, saying to her, "Don't play anymore. A piano is alive too; it can sense your emotions. Don't vent your bad emotions on it."
Qingxue's body suddenly stiffened. Just as she was about to speak, he continued.
"If you want to vent, why not come to me."
"You?" Qingxue looked at him and let out a single sound.
Beitang sat down beside her and reached for a delicate little pastry.
"I didn't expect that someone as noble as your mother could produce such exquisite pastries. Even the chef at my house might not reach her level."
"..." Qingxue's body suddenly tensed up.
Indeed, these pastries were very exquisite and made with great care. One could say they were filled with sincerity.
But so what?
