Every object in the opera comes alive and is a gigantic music instrument, like this chandelier. It takes up the whole stage. It looks like a chandelier, but it's actually a robotic music instrument.

I remember how frightening it was to see the chandelier that hung above our dining table swing back and forth during every minor earthquake, and I sometimes couldn't sleep at night, terrified that the Big One might strike while we were sleeping.

And then finally, Kelly's play of brilliants attitude, that really some play of the skyline of Hong Kong, or perhaps the chandelier in the opera house, or in the theater here, which is a decoration, the icing on the cake, something playful, something that is just an addition to the architectural environment, I would say.

And for us, I mean it's really kind of a very strange thing, but the moments in the hall that the buzz kind of dies down when the audience is waiting for the performance to begin, very similar to the parting of curtains or the raising of a chandelier, the walls will just exude this glow, temporarily stealing attention from the stage.