Wo wei ni xie de,†he said, as he raised the violin to his left shoulder, tucking it under his chin. He had told her many violinists used a shoulder rest, but he did not: there was a slight mark on the side of his throat, like a permanent bruise, where the violin rested.
“You — made something for me?†Tessa asked.
“I wrote something for you,†he corrected, with a smile, and began to play.
