What a Musician Is

The hot afternoon sun passed through the layers of ivy surrounding the window, shining into the library.

Outside the window, a lazy golden dog laid on the porch, sunbathing and sleeping. Beside it, Bai Xi earnestly combed its fur, then messed it up again as Old Phil slept.

Inside the library, Charles stood in the corner crying without tears. With a bucket of water in each hand, and a thick "Analysis of the Samnium Culture: Volume I" on his head, he stood attentively against the wall.

"Don’t space out. Your posture is wrong!" With a rarely seen strictness, Abraham whacked Charles’ knees. "What did I tell you? Keep your knees together. Did you not eat? Keep this position for two hours. You’ll start over if you move…"

Charles cried, "Junior, come save me!"

Ye Qingxuan sighed and tried again. "Professor, it really isn’t his fault. It’s all because of me."