"Hello, sir. Mo and I spoke about you yesterday. I can tell that you treat her really well and she really loves you."
A smile appeared on the corners of Xi Zhiheng's lips and his exquisite features dissipated his cold vibe. "Mr. Townsend, thank you for for coming here to teach."
"No, I should thank Mo. After interacting with her yesterday, I was suddenly inspired and I wrote a song. I'm so happy," Townsend was really happy. When he heard Yan Anmo's piano music go from pure to sad and complex, he suddenly felt like writing a song about a girl's growth.
Everyone was born like a blank piece of paper that gradually had color added to it through the course of their life: whether simple or complex, black or colored, light or dark.
"Can I hear it?" Yan Anmo asked excitedly.
"Of course!" Townsend was more than willing. Without saying much, he sat down and started playing out his inspiration.