It is Chopin, it is Yundi Li.
The piano stood quietly on the wooden stage, though alone but not lonely - for we watched it with anticipation. There is potential in its 88 contemplative ivory keys. When the lights dimmed, and sea of audience stopped fidgeting, casting their eyes to the same direction, he entered. No announcement, just him alone, as if walking into a practice room. Calmly he gave a nod of acknowledgment, before settling in front of the big black thing. No theatrical delays, or attention-seeking foreplay. Raised his right hand: the index finger fell most gracefully on that single note which opened the door to the beauty beyond time.