Early the next morning, Zhu Wenshu ran into Zhu Qisen again at the school gate, spotting his bright white teeth from a good distance away.

“Yo! If it isn’t my benefactor!”

Zhu Qisen, carrying a bag of soy milk, trotted over to her cheerfully. “You look way too pretty today. Teaching at this elementary school is such a waste of you—you should go to Hollywood and let the whole world witness your beauty.”

“That’s enough.”

Zhu Wenshu kept half a meter away from him, afraid his silliness might rub off on her. “If you’ve really got nothing better to do, go pull weeds by the playground.”

“How could I have nothing to do? I was born to serve Teacher Zhu hand and foot.” Zhu Qisen shoved the soy milk toward Zhu Wenshu’s face. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes.”

Zhu Wenshu waved away his soy milk. “If you’ve got something to say, say it quick—I need to go keep an eye on my students.”

“Heh heh, it’s nothing big, it’s just that Xue’er was so happy to get the concert tickets yesterday, and she wants to join your roommate’s fan group.”

“…”

Zhu Wenshu’s brow twitched, but she said without changing expression, “My roommate’s fan group is really strict, and it’s already full—you can’t join it.”

“Oh… I see…”

Zhu Qisen immediately stuck a straw into his soy milk and started drinking it himself. “No big deal—she’s already thrilled just to be able to go to Ling Chen’s concert.”

Speaking of which, something occurred to Zhu Wenshu, and she turned her head. “Oh right, I’m going to the concert too.”

“?”

Zhu Qisen, straw in his mouth, had the word “refuse” written all over his face in bold. “If you’ve really got nothing better to do, go pull weeds by the playground.”

“You really are the type to burn the bridge once you’ve crossed it.”

Zhu Wenshu laughed in exasperation. “I still have a ticket—is it any of your business?”

Zhu Qisen: “You don’t even like Ling Chen, so why bother joining the crowd? Wouldn’t it be better to resell the ticket and make some money?”

“It’s not a matter of liking him or not.”

Zhu Wenshu didn’t say the rest of what she was thinking.

Wasn’t it also just to save face for the occasion?

Besides, not everyone got the chance to attend a high school classmate’s concert.

Thinking about it carefully, there was even a bit of reflected pride in it.

With this thought, Zhu Wenshu walked toward the office with a light step, and upon seeing the two neatly stacked piles of notebooks on her desk, bent down to flip through them without even setting down her bag.

Finding Ling Siyuan’s, she opened it with great anticipation—

Nothing?

She flipped through several more pages, front and back, even picking up the notebook and shaking it—only a half-eaten spicy strip snack fell out.

Had he forgotten, or lost it?

Zhu Wenshu couldn’t set her mind at ease, and headed toward the classroom.

With a few minutes left before morning reading class, the students were making a racket in the classroom. When they saw their homeroom teacher come in, the whole room seemed to hit pause, with all the little heads staring eagerly at Zhu Wenshu.

As if standing in a field of sunflowers, Zhu Wenshu cleared her throat lightly, waved Ling Siyuan over, and said in a solemn voice, “Yuanyuan, come here for a moment.”

Not understanding what was going on, Ling Siyuan scratched the back of his head and walked out step by step.

“Teacher, what’s wrong?”

Zhu Wenshu bent down, smiling with crinkled eyes. “Did your dad ask you to bring the teacher anything today?”

“Huh?”

Ling Siyuan, looking like a bewildered little monk, kept scratching his round little head, and after a long while finally stammered, “N-no, he didn’t.”

“Oh… never mind, then. Go back to the classroom, be good and listen carefully.”

As long as it wasn’t lost, that was fine.

Zhu Wenshu thought, it was only natural that he hadn’t had Ling Siyuan bring it.

Ling Chen was so busy, he might not even remember this. And even if he did remember, he might not have had time to arrange it.

By Friday, Zhu Wenshu still hadn’t received the ticket.

That night, after her shower, she lay in bed mulling it over for a while, and finally decided to send Ling Chen a message.

Zhu Wenshu: Classmate Ling Chen, good evening.

Zhu Wenshu: I haven’t found the ticket in Yuanyuan’s notebook these past few days—did you forget because you were busy?

At the same time, she transferred the ticket money to Ling Chen.

But these three messages sank without a trace. Zhu Wenshu waited a long time, drifting hazily between sleep and wakefulness, when it seemed Ling Chen had replied.

She picked up her phone, but saw no reply.

Never mind, might as well just go to sleep.

Just as she was about to turn off the screen, the label under Ling Chen’s name suddenly changed to “typing…”

Zhu Wenshu forced her eyelids open again, waiting for his message.

After going back and forth several times, the “typing” indicator disappeared.

—Ling Chen had accepted the money.

c: My kid isn’t a delivery boy.

c: Come get it yourself.

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

The line “how about I have a courier deliver it” died right there under her fingers before she could type it.

Fine, then.

Zhu Wenshu: Okay, when are you free?

Ling Chen sent over an address.

c: Tomorrow evening at seven.

Zhu Wenshu: As you command.

The autumn night’s chill arrived silently; a few scattered stars flickered faintly.

That night, Zhu Wenshu slept unusually well.

When she woke, the sky was already bright.

Enjoying the rare leisure, she got up slowly, and taking advantage of the good weather, turned on her speaker to play “New Renditions of Elementary School Chinese Classical Poetry,” did a thorough cleaning, and even stripped off and washed all her bedsheets and covers.

Once she got started on chores, they seemed endless, and by the time Zhu Wenshu had sorted through all her summer clothes and packed them into storage boxes, the whole morning had already passed.

Staying home until six in the evening, Zhu Wenshu finally changed out of her pajamas to head out, and happened to run into Ying Fei coming in with delivery food.

“Want a bite?”

Ying Fei asked.

Smelling the fragrance of the mini hotpot, Zhu Wenshu forced herself to resist the urge, afraid that the big star would be displeased if she arrived late.

“I just ate—I can’t eat any more.”

“Alright then.”

Ying Fei opened her delivery and found two free bottles of cola inside, and asked, “Want some cola?”

Zhu Wenshu, changing her shoes by the door, waved her hand.

“I stopped liking carbonated drinks ages ago.”

The address Ling Chen had given was quite far—some newly developed industrial park in the suburbs that the subway couldn’t reach directly.

On top of that, this time of day usually had some traffic, so Zhu Wenshu didn’t dare delay any further.

The evening glow churned along the horizon; the taxi drove smoothly, and Zhu Wenshu grew drowsy in the sunset light.

She didn’t know how much time had passed when a series of honking horns woke her up.

She opened her eyes and stared in disbelief at the scene beyond the windshield.

“What’s going on? Why is it so jammed up?”

“No idea.”

The driver also honked a few times along with everyone else, and seeing that the traffic ahead wasn’t moving at all, finally picked up his phone.

In his WeChat group, other drivers were already discussing the matter, with hundreds of messages flooding in.

“Oh, there’s been a car accident up ahead.”

He turned to tell Zhu Wenshu, “Should be fine, it’ll clear up soon.”

Zhu Wenshu made a sound of acknowledgment and said nothing more.

Fortunately, she’d set out earlier than the navigation app’s estimated time today.

Fifteen minutes passed, and seeing the traffic still hadn’t budged an inch, Zhu Wenshu began to grow restless.

“Sir, how long do you think it’ll take to clear up?”

“How would I know!”

The driver had long since put the car in park, his arm resting out the window, and said irritably, “I heard someone’s hurt and they’re waiting for an ambulance—right now even the ambulance can’t get through.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Seeing it was already 6:40, Zhu Wenshu thought it over and decided to send Ling Chen a message first.

Zhu Wenshu: Sorry, there’s a situation on my end, I might not make it in time.

Zhu Wenshu: Go ahead with what you’re doing.

Zhu Wenshu: No need to wait for me.

A few minutes later.

That single word “oh” suddenly amplified the anxiety in Zhu Wenshu’s heart tenfold.

She opened the window and let the cold wind blow in, and just as she was thinking about what to do, her phone buzzed a few more times.

She hurriedly opened WeChat, only to find it was colleagues gossiping in a small group chat without any supervisors present.

Lin Qiuyuan: Wow, look at this everyone.

Lin Qiuyuan: A magazine’s official account publicly called out Ye Shaoxing for being late.

Zhang Sisi: Tsk, the magazine’s a big deal, but turns out he’s even bigger [dog head]

Lin Qiuyuan: The thing is, hasn’t Ye Shaoxing always kept up this “dedicated professional” image?

[He Yueqin]: Ah, right, right, apparently he once kept filming even with a 40°C fever.

Lin Qiuyuan: But aren’t they afraid of getting attacked by Ye Shaoxing’s fans?

Zhang Sisi: Does the magazine make its living off Ye Shaoxing? Everyone has a temper sometimes—I give attitude to anyone who’s late, let alone a big-name magazine.

[He Yueqin]: Don’t even get me started—last time at my class’s parent meeting, seven parents were late. If I weren’t afraid of getting reported, I would’ve just made them stand outside the door.

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Amid the lively gossip, the message Zhu Wenshu sent seemed completely out of place.

Zhu Wenshu: [cracking up]

Lin Qiuyuan: What’s wrong with you?

Just waiting around like this wasn’t a solution, so Zhu Wenshu opened her phone’s map app, ready to check where the nearest subway station was.

She’d just typed a few characters when she suddenly remembered—she was stuck on an overpass right now.

If she got out here, she might end up in a police car before she ever made it onto a subway.

Never mind, better just wait.

Night fell amid the flow of traffic, taillights strung together like a field of stars.

Meanwhile, at Ling Chen’s workplace, there wasn’t much difference between day and night.

A young man with braided hair pushed open the door to the music room, turning his head to look around before spotting Ling Chen, dressed all in black.

“We’ll head back first, then.”

Ling Chen said nothing, just nodded.

Behind the braided-hair young man trailed a group of flamboyantly dressed men and women, all with the weariness of sleep deprivation on their faces.

“It’s already seven thirty, and you didn’t sleep last night either,” another short-haired girl said. “Head back early.”

“Mm.”

Ling Chen sat at the piano, glanced at the clock on the wall, then lowered his head, fingers sliding across the keys. “I’ll wait a bit longer.”

“OK, but don’t stay too late either.”

This group of musicians didn’t take great care of their health; having day and night flipped was common. Aside from their daily collaborative sessions, Ling Chen always set aside time alone to immerse himself after everyone else left.

Without thinking much of it, they carried and slung their instruments over their shoulders, chatting and laughing as they left.

The moment the door closed, both light and voices were cut off, leaving only the faint moonlight filtering in through the window of the music room.

The spacious room sank into the night’s darkness, and after a long while, a single screen’s glow finally lit up.

Ling Chen opened his phone; his conversation with Zhu Wenshu was still stuck on her “no need to wait for me.”

Scrolling up further, aside from a few payment records, the longest line was the one she’d said: “I know how hard your tickets are to get. If I took them for free, wouldn’t I have to treat you to a meal again?”

He sat quietly, eyelashes lowered, listening to the sound of the second hand ticking.

Before long.

The screen’s light dimmed, the phone was tossed aside near the piano stand, and a slow, low melody rose in the empty music room.

Ten minutes earlier, the taxi had already arrived at its destination, having passed through a desolate stretch of undeveloped land so quiet not even a bird stirred.

But this park wasn’t open to the public, so Zhu Wenshu could only get out at the main gate.

According to the navigation, the entrance was still seven or eight hundred meters from Ling Chen’s location. Since the car couldn’t drive in, Zhu Wenshu had no choice but to walk.

After registering her ID at the security booth, Zhu Wenshu, thinking she was already far too late, jogged the whole way.

The autumn night was cool, but it couldn’t withstand this kind of exertion.

Over ten minutes later, as Zhu Wenshu finally neared the destination shown on the navigation, a thin layer of sweat had already formed on her forehead.

The small buildings were arranged haphazardly, and with streetlights sparse, she couldn’t make out the numbers marked on them.

Unsure exactly which building it was, Zhu Wenshu looked around, hoping to find someone to ask.

But in this place, there wasn’t even a bird in sight, let alone a pedestrian.

Just as she was fretting, a jumble of footsteps sounded from not far away.

A group of flamboyantly dressed people was walking out toward her.

Zhu Wenshu thought for a moment, then stepped forward and asked, “Excuse me, could you tell me how to get to Building 034?”

Hearing Zhu Wenshu’s question, the group suddenly fell silent.

Especially the braided-hair man leading them, who swept Zhu Wenshu with a wary glance and said, “Sorry, I’m not sure.”

“Alright, thanks anyway.”

Zhu Wenshu sighed and continued walking forward, still checking her navigation.

The group didn’t move; once Zhu Wenshu had passed them and walked on, they all turned to look at her retreating figure.

“Who was that?”

“How does she know about this place?”

“A stalker fan?”

“Doesn’t look like one.”

A few minutes later, Zhu Wenshu finally found the destination marked “034.”

Unlike the neighboring small office buildings, which had prominent signs with names, this building had none.

It had no name and almost no exterior decoration; the structure was extremely modern, yet carried a certain air of desolation.

Only the light on the second floor indicated that the place hadn’t been abandoned.

Walking up to the door, Zhu Wenshu pushed it, and found it locked.

Just as she was about to call Ling Chen, at the moment she lowered her head, a woman’s voice sounded beside her.

“Who are you looking for?”

Zhu Wenshu turned around and saw a petite young woman, carrying a bag of something, dressed plainly, who looked like she was probably one of Ling Chen’s staff.

“I’m looking for Ling Chen.”

She said, “My name is Zhu Wenshu. I have an appointment with him.”

The girl’s eyes seemed to hold some surprise, staring fixedly at Zhu Wenshu.

Then her brow slowly furrowed, and as she pulled out her access card she said, “Why are you only getting here now?”

Seeing the girl’s expression, Zhu Wenshu could tell she’d probably never seen anyone show up late to an appointment with Ling Chen, and felt even more ashamed.

“There was a traffic jam on the way.”

The girl made a sound of acknowledgment.

“I thought you weren’t coming—he’s already gone back to work.”

She pushed open the door and led Zhu Wenshu upstairs. “Come on in.”

Aside from a few lights turned on, the second floor didn’t seem much different from the first—the corridor had almost no decoration, rows of dark doors lined up side by side, giving off little sense of life.

“Is this an office space?”

Zhu Wenshu asked quietly.

“No, this is Ling Chen’s music room and recording studio.”

The girl explained as she led the way, “When they’re making music, it gets really loud, so all the rooms are soundproofed.”

As they talked, the two had already reached a fork in the corridor.

The girl pointed at a gray wooden double door ahead. “I won’t go with you the rest of the way—he’s in there.”

“Thank you.”

The two parted ways.

When Zhu Wenshu reached that door, feeling a bit apprehensive, she leaned her ear close and listened for a moment.

There was no sound at all—it didn’t seem like anyone was inside.

Hadn’t the girl just said he was in here?

She hesitated for a moment, then raised her hand and knocked on the door. “Is anyone there?”

She waited a good while, but heard no response.

Recalling her colleagues’ complaints in the group chat about how much they hated lateness, especially the line “I would’ve just made them stand outside the door,” Zhu Wenshu’s guilt was amplified by the lack of response into anxiety.

Could Ling Chen be angry and deliberately leaving her out here?

If she’d known, she should have taken the subway from the start.

She smacked her forehead in frustration, and after hesitating a moment, raised her hand to push the door open.

The door seemed unusually heavy; Zhu Wenshu struggled to get the hinges to budge.

When the double doors finally opened a crack, before Zhu Wenshu could even look inside—

A familiar piano melody drifted out along with the light, floating in a calm so serene it seemed a shame to disturb it, and it inexplicably caught Zhu Wenshu’s ear, making her forget to keep pushing the door open, standing dazed at the doorway instead.

She didn’t know when Ling Chen’s singing voice had entered the melody.

By the time she came back to herself and listened closely, the song was already more than halfway through—

“You look out the window, wondering which cherry blossom has caught your eye.

When will I finally be cherished by you the way orange soda is.

A devout mute, I can only rewind you in the dark of night.

Where is the endpoint—the moon says it will give me an answer.”

A breeze swept through, carrying the scattered scent of late-autumn osmanthus.

Zhu Wenshu suddenly understood, at last, why so many people loved Ling Chen.

His melodies carried a deep, mournful timbre, much like his silent demeanor—like a gentle wave rolling in against the crowd, wrapping Zhu Wenshu up softly and densely, pulling her down into a deep sea that seemed calm on the surface but churned with hidden currents beneath.

“I’ve been waiting all along.

I’ve been waiting all along.

Waiting for the moon to rise in daylight, waiting for snow to fall in midsummer.

The moment you glance at me, I reach the end.”

Just as Zhu Wenshu was still adrift, immersed in it, the piano and his singing abruptly stopped.

“Who’s out there?”

Zhu Wenshu snapped back to herself and hurriedly pushed the door open.

The room was still dim; following the sole source of light, Zhu Wenshu saw Ling Chen’s silhouette seated at the piano.

He had his back to the moonlight, his expression unclear, but Zhu Wenshu could sense a note of irritation at being disturbed in his mood, so she blurted out in a fluster, “It’s me!”

The sound-activated hallway light switched on the instant her words fell.

She wore her hair in a simple ponytail, her fair face bare of makeup, her cheeks slightly flushed.

The warm yellow light fell on the top of her head, like the blazing sun of that summer long ago.

Ling Chen’s fingertips were still resting on the keys; the instant he made out Zhu Wenshu clearly, the piano let out an awkward, discordant note.

Hearing the note, Zhu Wenshu’s heart gave a sudden lurch, and she hurriedly spoke.

“Sorry, I’m late. I’ve kept you waiting.”