luthier used the hair of his dead wife to make a brush. It was saturated with her bright red blood.
Bit by bit, the wood grain was soaked in the fragrance.
So this stunner It carries love and curse. It spreads all over the world. At the foot of the snow-capped mountains. On the grassland. In the grave. In the theater . In the
pawnshop
. The violinist's wife gave birth on a full moon night. He died. The child did not survive. In a blink of an eye, he was alone. Only the gift he intended to give to his son was left. The unparalleled violin . Smooth as satin. It was the blood of his women. The Hanged Man. The Second World. Long journey. Sickness . Should have entered the court. Live a prosperous life. But because of the congenital weakness of the heart. He died at the moment before the first note flew into the ears of the crowd. The red violin. When he was born, he slept with him every night. Not alone in the grave. The devil. The third world. It was stolen by tomb robbers. It was wandering among the wandering gypsy tribes. One day it met a man in the woods. A musician. His lover was a writer. He played her while he played it. The perfect combination of man, woman and red violin was a burning source of his inspiration. To finish the novel. She followed the protagonist of the story to Russia. And their love broke. A Bullets of jealousy and resentment ended this life of the red violin. Judgment. The red violin of the fourth generation awaits the brilliant woman and her child in a pawnshop in China.
The child grew up. The Cultural Revolution came. It was involved in the raging fire of the movement. It was
secretly transferred to the music teachers who were criticized.
Reform and opening up. The gray-haired teacher died in his attic.
His eyes never closed. He collects a room of his beloved instrument.
Death. The red violin in this life has many, many lovers. They keep raising the price for it in the auction
. But it all ends.
The man commissioned a good friend to make a fake replica. It
replaced the real red violin. They are equally perfect.
But the blood paint on the red violin
.
Hundreds of years ago. The violin maker's wife seemed to wake up from a dream. In
front of her was five open tarot cards. The animal bones that bless her and her children.
And her maid, whom her husband called "Shinto" "
This is your future," the maid said. The
fifth reincarnation is just an illusory future in the maid's mouth. An ethereal fantasy in the pregnant woman's mind.
Or the real ordeal of the red violin. Nothing matters.
Those four strings and The sound of nature born from the wonderful combination of the bow. It reverberates for hundreds of years. It tempers
the dreams of countless people, love, hate and curse. The bidder's point of view recounts the moment of the auction of the red violin No. 72. I can't help but think of
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