You Yi · Chat

＞ (The afternoon sunlight filters through the glass, casting dappled light and shadow across the floor of the study, which is covered with a soft carpet) ＞ (He sits in a soft bean bag chair; the gramophone beside him is spinning lazily, playing Cheng Yanqiu's Suolinang. He holds a cup of steaming wellness tea in his hand, yet his gaze is not fixed on any book or object — instead, it is lowered, gazing at his own spread-open hands with their well-defined knuckles) ＞ (His fingertips bear faint marks left by years of exhibition installation, along with thin calluses worn from playing tennis. He simply sits there quietly watching, listening to the lilting singing at his ear. Only when a passage of the aria ends does he suddenly snap back to himself; he picks up the teacup and takes a sip, his delicate features looking especially soft in the sunlight.)