A long time passed.

As her voice dissolved into the night wind, the sound-activated light quietly went out again, and Ling Chen’s figure sank back into the darkness.

Darkness and silence tend to heighten one’s senses, and in this spacious music room, Zhu Wenshu could sense Ling Chen watching her.

She could also sense a faint, dense emotion drifting in the air, emanating from Ling Chen, who was gazing at her from across the distance.

He stayed silent for so long that Zhu Wenshu began to think it was his anger building up, when he suddenly stood.

Zhu Wenshu watched the blurry figure walk to the wall on her left, raise a hand and press something, and the music room suddenly flooded with light.

Ling Chen, seemingly unable to adjust to such brightness right away, kept his palm against the wall, lowering his head and closing his eyes for a moment before turning around.

“Why did you only just get here?”

“There was an accident on the way—the overpass was jammed for a long time.”

Zhu Wenshu, seeing his expression was actually calm, not looking particularly angry, let out a breath of relief on her own. “Sorry, sorry about that.”

Ling Chen tossed off an “Oh,” turned and walked to the corner, picked up a guitar, sat down on the steps with his legs bent, and casually plucked out a few notes with his head lowered.

Zhu Wenshu didn’t know much about music, but she could tell this unformed melody sounded rather lighthearted.

But Ling Chen just sat there without speaking, leaving her unable to tell whether he was still angry or not.

Just as Zhu Wenshu stood there awkwardly, Ling Chen glanced at her.

“Sit down.”

Zhu Wenshu: “Okay.”

Sitting was fine, but where?

Aside from the piano bench, which was far from Ling Chen, this room didn’t seem to have any other seats.

Ling Chen was still absorbed in playing the guitar; Zhu Wenshu looked around, and finally walked over to the steps, tucking her skirt as she sat down beside him.

A faint scent of shampoo suddenly brushed past her nose, and the melody under Ling Chen’s fingertips abruptly sped up by a beat.

Tone-deaf Zhu Wenshu didn’t notice this at all, only thinking that the tune he was casually playing sounded quite nice.

Simple, yet not loose—lively and vivid.

On this quiet night, the clear, distinctive tone of the plucked strings resonated with the moonlight, surging and flowing through the darkness.

By the time Zhu Wenshu suddenly snapped back to herself, the piece had already ended.

Ling Chen, holding his pick, turned his head, and the two of them found themselves suddenly, unexpectedly, looking straight into each other’s eyes.

Zhu Wenshu’s mind was still not fully pulled away from the melody, and she asked instinctively, “What was that? It’s really nice.”

“A new song. Not released yet.”

Ling Chen withdrew his gaze, the pick lightly grazing the strings. “Miss Zhu, you’re the first person to hear it.”

His voice was low but very clean.

Hearing this, Zhu Wenshu felt as though the tip of her heart was trembling lightly, just like the strings under his hand.

“Oh, I see…”

She turned her face slightly away, her mind suddenly a little slow to turn. “Then what about the one you were singing at the piano just now? Is that a new song too?”

“…”

The intermittent notes suddenly stopped, Ling Chen’s fingers resting on the guitar, and he looked at Zhu Wenshu.

There was nothing overbearing in his gaze, yet Zhu Wenshu felt as if the air around her had suddenly taken on weight, pressing down on her heavily.

“Pretty new.”

“It was only released five years ago.”

Zhu Wenshu: “Huh?”

Ling Chen turned his head away, no longer looking at her, the corner of his mouth curving up slightly without any trace of a smile.

“It’s that song you like best, ‘Classmate Little Silkworm.'”

Zhu Wenshu: “…………”

Several long, deathly silent seconds passed, and Zhu Wenshu blinked dryly.

“Have you heard the famous saying by the renowned educator Montessori?”

Ling Chen raised an eyebrow: “Hm?”

Zhu Wenshu: “What I hear, I forget; what I see, I remember; what I do, I understand…”

As she went on, Ling Chen’s expression grew flatter and flatter, and Zhu Wenshu’s voice grew smaller and smaller, more and more lacking in confidence, until she even swallowed the sound of the last word.

She finally stopped struggling and shut her mouth.

There didn’t seem to be any point in forcing an explanation anymore.

She really had heard this song before—the moment the melody started playing, it had sounded familiar to her.

But she also genuinely hadn’t been able to place which song it was, in the moment.

“What are you nervous about.”

After a moment of silence, Ling Chen suddenly stood up, and as he brushed past Zhu Wenshu, she heard him say, “It’s not like I’m checking your homework.”

Hearing the word “homework,” Zhu Wenshu’s eyelashes trembled slightly, her mind flashing, and that bit of awkward worry suddenly transformed into the memory of Ling Siyuan’s autumn outing composition.

When she looked up at Ling Chen again, he was bending over to put down the guitar.

Zhu Wenshu’s gaze then drifted uncontrollably from his waist, inch by inch… downward.

Taking one look, she quickly averted her eyes.

Then, unable to help herself, she looked again.

This butt… wasn’t big at all.

Though it was quite perky.

“What are you looking at?”

Ling Chen’s voice suddenly rang out.

Zhu Wenshu snapped her gaze back like a peeping tom caught watching a girl bathe.

Not knowing what to say, she suddenly remembered the main reason she’d come today.

“Nothing, it’s just—you seem pretty busy… If there’s nothing else, once I get the ticket I won’t bother you any further.”

Ling Chen said nothing, just made a sound of acknowledgment, walked over to the piano, pulled out the ticket tucked inside the sheet music, and walked toward Zhu Wenshu.

Just as they were only a step apart, Zhu Wenshu reached out to take it, when footsteps suddenly sounded behind her.

Then, Ling Xingyan’s voice rang out.

“No, no, not yet—Director Ming, don’t worry, our collaboration has been so pleasant, we’ll definitely renew the contract.”

The double doors hadn’t closed; before Ling Xingyan stepped in, Ling Chen’s hand, which had already been extending the ticket, suddenly changed direction, tucking it directly into the bucket bag hanging at her side.

Zhu Wenshu, her hand still empty, was a bit confused, not yet understanding why Ling Chen hadn’t simply handed the ticket to her, when Ling Xingyan’s footsteps were already right at her ear.

She turned around and found herself face to face with Ling Xingyan.

Ling Xingyan’s footsteps paused for a moment, his gaze sweeping over Zhu Wenshu and Ling Chen before finally settling on Zhu Wenshu.

“Mm-hm, alright, let’s discuss the details later.”

He stared at the woman before him, and after hanging up the phone, nodded. “Hello.”

Zhu Wenshu stared fixedly at his face and nodded back, saying “Hello.”

But the moment those two words left her mouth, as if struck by sudden inspiration, another young, childish face seemed to flash before her eyes.

No wonder he’d looked familiar the first time she’d met him.

Those brows, that nose bridge, those lips—

Ling Siyuan and him looked exactly like they’d been shaped from a single slap of Nüwa’s hand when she created humans!

It was the first time Zhu Wenshu had seen two people who resembled each other so much, and her mind spun with thoughts as she unconsciously zoned out.

Meanwhile, seeing Zhu Wenshu here, Ling Xingyan also had a cloud of suspicion swirling in his mind.

After running into her in the park last time, things afterward had been a bit strange.

That day, after wrapping up, Ling Chen hadn’t rushed off—instead, once the site was cleared, he’d personally gone to find the venue staff in charge of on-site management, asking if anyone had found a bracelet.

The staff had gone to check with the makeup and styling team, and indeed there was a pink crystal bracelet—the stylist tidying up at the time had thought some female staff member had lost it and planned to ask around in the group chat afterward, never expecting Ling Chen to come claim it himself.

Ling Xingyan hadn’t originally known about this—it was the venue staff who later gossiped to him about it, asking why Ling Chen had suddenly gone looking for a woman’s bracelet at the venue.

Ling Xingyan hadn’t said anything at the time, but in his mind he’d suddenly recalled that ordinary high school classmate he’d only met once—Zhu Wenshu.

And now—

His gaze dropped, and sure enough, he saw a strand of pink crystal on Zhu Wenshu’s wrist.

What’s more, she was standing here now, in Ling Chen’s private recording studio.

This wasn’t the kind of treatment an ordinary high school classmate could expect to receive from Ling Chen.

The two of them, each harboring different thoughts, stared at each other for a long while, neither saying a word.

Until Ling Chen’s voice sounded from beside them: “Anything else you need?”

Zhu Wenshu, jolted as if from a dream, looked at Ling Chen and blinked before realizing this was Ling Chen giving her a cue to leave, so she quickly said, “No, nothing else. I’ll get going, then.”

She’d just turned around when Ling Xingyan’s voice sounded again.

“Wait a moment, please.”

Zhu Wenshu turned back, looking at Ling Xingyan in confusion.

He tucked one hand into his suit trouser pocket, leaned casually against the wall beside him, and asked with a gentle smile, “Do you like orange soda?”

As soon as he spoke, it was Ling Chen who reacted first, before Zhu Wenshu even could.

The instant he turned around abruptly, Zhu Wenshu blinked. “Huh?”

She still hadn’t figured out what Ling Xingyan’s baffling question meant when a voice laced with anger fell over her head.

“Ling Xingyan.”

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

The lyrics he’d just sung still seemed to linger on his lips.

Ling Chen raised his eyes, looking at Ling Xingyan with an oppressive weight, and said word by word, “Do you have too much time on your hands?”