Zhu Wenshu had originally thought this would just be a simple rendition of “Happy Birthday.”

But after the intro, the notes flowed smoothly into an unfamiliar melody.

The tune was mournful and ethereal; even the strings that quietly joined in were low and hoarse.

The main melody was still that familiar, well-known song, but Ling Chen’s voice carried a completely different vocal style.

When the lyrics began, Zhu Wenshu’s figure was hidden in the vast sea of people, stepping forward little by little.

She walked past the crowd waving glow sticks, and only when she reached the end did she realize that even from the front rows, the stage was still some twenty meters away.

In the packed stadium, the empty seat right in the middle of the second row looked conspicuously out of place.

Shi Xue’er was listening, utterly absorbed. This was her first time seeing Ling Chen so close up, and she had already lost herself in the moment.

Not until a song was drawing to a close did the melody slowly shift back into a solo piano piece.

“Teacher Zhu?”

Shi Xue’er hadn’t noticed when Zhu Wenshu had sat down beside her. She pressed a finger to the corner of her eye, her voice carrying a hint of tears. “You finally made it. Thankfully you only missed one song.”

Zhu Wenshu stared at the figure on stage and murmured, “I didn’t miss it.”

The song ended, but the music didn’t stop.

Notes leapt out one by one, no more arrangement, no more accompaniment—just the simple, pure “Happy Birthday” from childhood.

Zhu Wenshu’s voice was very small. “What song is this?”

The surroundings were quiet except for the distant piano. Shi Xue’er heard her, leaned in close, and said softly, “Happy birthday to you.”

Zhu Wenshu looked up, turning her head to Shi Xue’er.

“Thank you.”

“I mean, this song is literally called ‘Happy Birthday to You’!” Whether it was the cold weather or not, Shi Xue’er sniffled. “This song has never been included on any album—you can only hear it at concerts. Teacher Zhu, I’m so grateful to you, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to come to a concert.”

Zhu Wenshu said nothing more. It felt as though wind was whistling past her ears.

She watched Ling Chen on stage. The music had stopped a long while ago, yet he still sat beneath the spotlight—no singing, no piano—as if he hadn’t yet pulled himself out of the song.

Just then, someone in the left section of the audience shouted at the top of their lungs: “Ling Chen! I love you!”

Applause and screaming cheers rose together, as if waking Ling Chen, who sat sideways at the piano.

He tilted his head back, drew a deep breath, and pulled the microphone off its stand on the piano.

But before Zhu Wenshu could see him stand, the stage plunged into darkness again.

The lights went out, yet the cheering kept coming in waves.

A few seconds later, the LED screen above the stage lit up, and a female dancer appeared at center stage.

Zhu Wenshu’s eyes drifted after her, but she no longer heard Ling Chen’s voice.

When the intro of the next song began, though, Shi Xue’er excitedly grabbed her hand.

“Ahhh! May all your wishes come true! I didn’t expect the second song to be this one! When is he going to sing ‘Classmate Little Silkworm’!”

Hearing those words, Zhu Wenshu suddenly felt a jolt, and the cold wind in the stadium seemed to turn warm.

Suddenly, cheers erupted from the right side of the audience.

The whole section turned to look.

Sure enough, in the corner of the stage on the right, Zhu Wenshu spotted a blurry figure.

He was still wearing the same outfit, singing as he walked along the edge of the stage toward the center.

Watching him draw closer step by step, Zhu Wenshu’s heart suddenly began pounding.

This short stretch of distance seemed to stretch on forever; Zhu Wenshu felt as though she’d waited a long, long time before Ling Chen finally arrived.

She didn’t even know if he could see the audience—

The instant that thought flickered through her mind, Zhu Wenshu saw Ling Chen’s footsteps stop diagonally ahead.

He still held the microphone in his hand, but his head tilted toward this side.

The stage lights shimmered and dazzled, blinding Zhu Wenshu’s eyes.

She couldn’t tell if Ling Chen had seen her; she only felt that his gaze seemed to linger for a long time.

Amid the cheering and screaming all around, his gaze felt as if it carried warmth. Zhu Wenshu’s whole body trembled, and flustered, she quickly grabbed her glow stick and waved it along with everyone beside her.

The dazzling stage lights poured down from above, unusually blinding.

Ling Chen’s gaze swept the front rows of the audience again and again. Against the intense contrast of light, the audience looked like a dark sea at midnight—all he could see was a mass of waving glow sticks and the deafening roar of cheers.

Actually, before the show started, when the stage lights hadn’t yet come on and the audience had almost entirely taken their seats, he had stood backstage looking out at the crowd, and had seen clearly that one seat in the front row was empty—

Zhu Wenshu had never been to another concert before, so she didn’t know whether other singers were like Ling Chen, interacting little with the audience, going straight from one song to the next.

On second thought, though, a concert lasting two or three hours would leave even someone with the strongest voice with no energy left to talk.

Then again, the audience below probably wasn’t much better off than Ling Chen.

Their screams grew louder with each passing moment—if this hadn’t been an open-air stadium, the roof might have blown off.

Even someone like Zhu Qisen, who was only there to accompany his girlfriend, eventually got swept up in the atmosphere, clapping and cheering along with everyone else.

But Zhu Wenshu remained silent the whole time.

The stadium seats weren’t very comfortable. She sat upright, the scarf that had covered half her face long since removed and folded on her lap.

Most of Ling Chen’s music was quiet, his vocal style low and deep, his voice naturally tinged with sorrow.

Like a murmuring stream deep in the mountains, rarely surging with turbulent waves.

Yet Zhu Wenshu felt as though she were drifting up and down within that stream, her head swaying gently along with his voice.

Later on, Shi Xue’er’s voice had nearly gone hoarse from shouting, and only belatedly did she realize that the person beside her had barely moved this whole time.

She thought it was absurd—how could anyone stay so composed at a Ling Chen concert?

But when she turned her head, she saw Zhu Wenshu resting her chin on one hand, head tilted, gazing quietly and intently at the man on stage.

There was a light in her eyes unlike that of the other audience members—gentle, lingering, carrying an inexplicable sense of familiarity.

Shi Xue’er thought about it, and realized—this looked like the way she herself looked at Zhu Qisen.

When the music stopped, Shi Xue’er poked Zhu Wenshu’s arm and asked in her ear, “Teacher Zhu, falling for him?”

Zhu Wenshu sat up straight as if waking from a dream, staring blankly at Shi Xue’er.

Under the shifting lights and the biting cold wind, Shi Xue’er saw a suspicious flush creeping up both her cheeks.

“Oh my, Teacher Zhu, even you can blush over this? Everyone’s like this—who comes to a Ling Chen concert and doesn’t fall for him?”

“Oh…”

Zhu Wenshu murmured a soft response, and before she could say anything more, Shi Xue’er let out a shriek and turned away again.

Zhu Wenshu was still lost in her words, not yet fully back to herself, when some instinct drew her gaze back to the stage.

By now nearly all the lights in the stadium had gone dark—no dazzling stage effects, no dancers.

Ling Chen, dressed in a white shirt, carried a guitar and walked quietly to the center of the stage.

Under the spotlight, he stood within the beam of light, reaching to adjust the height of the standing microphone.

But the audience in the stadium erupted with even more enthusiasm than at the start of the show. Zhu Wenshu was a little dazed, until she saw cherry blossoms falling one after another on the LED screen behind Ling Chen.

Her heart began racing rapidly again in that instant.

The next second, Ling Chen’s fingers swept across the strings, playing out a familiar melody.

The wild screaming around her didn’t drown out the sound of the guitar, yet Zhu Wenshu, who didn’t understand much about music, felt this melody sounded especially melancholic.

Just like, at this moment, Ling Chen’s lonely figure beneath the spotlight.

Suddenly, the cheering in the stadium shifted in tone.

Before Zhu Wenshu could react, Shi Xue’er yanked her right hand up.

“Teacher Zhu! Look at the big screen!”

Following Shi Xue’er’s gaze, Zhu Wenshu saw a female audience member’s face appear on the giant screen at the center of the stadium.

That audience member looked equally astonished, and after a moment of delighted surprise, quickly kissed the husband beside her.

The camera cut again, and two seconds later, another girl with dimples appeared on the big screen, laughing.

“This is…” Zhu Wenshu murmured.

“Audience cam!” Shi Xue’er said excitedly. “There’s always this segment at the end of every concert!”

Face after face flashed across the giant screen, and Zhu Wenshu noticed something they all had in common—they were all women, and all quite pretty.

“Whoa, they’re all beauties!” Zhu Qisen noticed the same thing. “What is this, a beauty pageant?”

“If you’ve got nothing smart to say, keep quiet!” Shi Xue’er smacked his shoulder with her glow stick. “They’re about to sing ‘Classmate Little Silkworm,’ so of course they’re capturing audience members with a first-love kind of face. Would you rather they show your face instead of beautiful girls?”

A first-love kind of face…

The moment Shi Xue’er’s words fell, Zhu Wenshu saw an unusually familiar face appear on the big screen.

So familiar that—

“Ahh!!! Teacher Zhu!!! You’re on screen!!!” Shi Xue’er grabbed her hand and shook it wildly.

Zhu Wenshu, like a puppet on strings, only came back to herself and yanked her hand free after a beat, not knowing where to look.

Unlike the other audience members caught on camera, Zhu Wenshu was entirely consumed by nervousness and confusion, not even knowing what to do with her hands.

And—perhaps because it was happening to her—it felt as though the camera lingered on her face longer than it had on anyone else.

On the screen, Shi Xue’er, whose face was only half in frame, looked flushed with excitement, her lips moving rapidly as if she were saying something.

It took Zhu Wenshu a good moment to catch her voice.

“Teacher Zhu! Give us a smile!”

She curved her lips gently.

The camera moved away, her smile flashing briefly across the screen before quickly cutting to another girl’s face.

Zhu Wenshu slowly looked away, only to discover that the music on stage had stopped at some point.

She looked toward center stage and saw Ling Chen, under the spotlight, his arm hanging beside the guitar, gazing up at the big screen.

The waves of sound in the stadium rose and fell one after another, but Ling Chen stood there for a long, long time, his gaze unmoving.

After a while, the image on the screen returned to the stage.

Zhu Wenshu could see clearly that Ling Chen’s lips were pressed together, his jawline tense, a faint tremor at his brow.

His eyes weren’t quite clear under the lights, gazing hazily in another direction.

Zhu Wenshu also lowered her raised chin and turned to look at the stage.

Across the twenty-meter distance, Zhu Wenshu could only make out the outline of his figure, but she knew—his gaze was cutting through the blazing lights and the vast sea of people, meeting hers from afar.

A moment later, she saw Ling Chen dragging the standing mic as he walked toward her.

“Today.”

He stopped at the edge of the stage, and his deep voice rang out. The audience fell suddenly silent, as if someone had hit pause.

“Classmate Little Silkworm is here tonight.”

When those words landed, the venue grew even quieter.

Yet just two seconds later, the crowd erupted into screams, more intense than at any point before.

And Zhu Wenshu, sitting amid the crowd, felt as though she were suspended in a vacuum, unable to tell whether the screaming in her ears or the pounding of her own heart was louder.

Amid this frenzy, she saw the man on stage lower his head.

He hid his expression, but his voice trembled faintly, carrying a hint of a choked sob.

“She came to my concert.”

Some were shocked, some were moved to tears, some cheered enthusiastically, some cried out in disbelief, some turned their necks restlessly, scanning the crowd for the “Classmate Little Silkworm” Ling Chen had spoken of.

Perhaps Zhu Wenshu was the only one in the entire venue sitting perfectly still, watching the stage.

She was someone who felt the cold easily, yet she had never before, not like this, on such a bitterly cold winter day, felt the warmth of her own blood.

Even her heartbeat grew heavier with each passing moment, threatening again and again to break free of her chest.

By the time Ling Chen spoke again, he could no longer hold back the momentum of the crowd.

“The last song, ‘Classmate Little Silkworm,'” he said, lifting a hand to strum the strings, restarting the interrupted music from the beginning, “is for my Classmate Little Silkworm.”

All around her was nothing but chaotic screaming and shouting, nearly deafening Zhu Wenshu; even the cameramen who had been constantly moving to find better angles lifted their heads from behind their lenses.

Perhaps no one was really listening to the song anymore. Even Shi Xue’er was babbling incoherently, alternately snapping photos on her phone and shaking Zhu Wenshu’s arm wildly.

“Teacher Zhu! Teacher Zhu! Can you hear this! Why aren’t you excited at all!”

Seeing that Zhu Wenshu wouldn’t speak, she turned to go be dramatic at Zhu Qisen instead.

Amid the roar of ten thousand voices, Zhu Wenshu was the only true listener.

All she heard was Ling Chen’s voice, word by word, striking against her heart.

Her heartbeat and breathing both grew calm within his voice.

But she couldn’t stop the sting of tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’ve been waiting all along.

I’ve been waiting all along.

Waiting for the sun to rise into moonlight, waiting for snow to fall in high summer.”

Hearing this line, Zhu Wenshu felt a sudden coldness across her face.

She looked up and saw snow drifting down from the night sky.

“You look at me once, and I reach the end of my journey.”

She looked back at the stage again, the snowflakes on her face melting in the warmth rising within her—

Until the musicians left the stage, the lights blazed on, bright as day, the stage stood empty, and the audience buzzed with noise.

Those in the back rows filed out; those in front rose to their feet, crowding messily into the aisles.

Zhu Wenshu still sat in the same position, staring at the now-empty stage.

Only when other sounds finally reached her ears did her consciousness slowly return, as if coming back to the mortal world.

“Teacher Zhu?”

Shi Xue’er had shouldered her bag and stood up to leave, only to find Zhu Wenshu still sitting there, lost in thought.

She had thought she herself had sat there in reverent silence long enough after the concert ended, never imagining someone could be even more devoted.

“Snap out of it! Time to head home, Teacher Zhu!”

Zhu Wenshu turned her head abruptly, her gaze wandering over Shi Xue’er before finally settling.

“Oh… okay.”

Shi Xue’er reached to pick up the scarf on her lap, and then froze for a moment.

“Teacher Zhu, were you crying?”

As if some great secret was about to be exposed, Zhu Wenshu found herself at a loss for how to respond.

She opened her mouth, some excuse hovering on her lips, but before she could think it through, Shi Xue’er had already stamped her foot and turned to Zhu Qisen instead.

“Look! Teacher Zhu even cried and you’re still making fun of me! So what if I cried a little?” She poked a finger at Zhu Qisen’s chest. “You’ve got a heart of stone and you dare laugh at other people!”

Zhu Qisen said nothing in response, only took hold of her hand, then tilted his head to look at Zhu Wenshu.

Their eyes met, and Zhu Wenshu quickly looked away, pretending to straighten her clothes.

Zhu Qisen frowned suspiciously.

He’d known Zhu Wenshu for so many years, and he’d never once thought her the type to cry from listening to a song.

“Let’s go.”

Shi Xue’er said, “Hold your flowers properly.”

The two bouquets never did get delivered in the end. Shi Xue’er wasn’t surprised or disappointed—she had Zhu Qisen walk ahead to clear the way while she took Zhu Wenshu’s hand and led her through the crowd out of the stadium.

Without the shelter of the building, the cold wind carried snow straight into their faces.

Zhu Wenshu still felt a floating, dreamlike sensation, while Zhu Qisen was already stomping his feet, arms full of flowers. “It’s freezing, and there are so many people—who knows how long the traffic will be jammed for.”

He glanced around and said, “Why don’t you two wait here, and I’ll go pull the car around, so you two young ladies don’t freeze on the way.”

“That’s too much trouble.”

Shi Xue’er said, “The parking lot isn’t that far, let’s just go together.”

As the two of them talked, Zhu Wenshu’s phone suddenly buzzed.

She hurried to grab her phone, fumbling so much that her lipstick fell right out of her bag.

Watching this, Shi Xue’er felt like her matchmaking efforts had never been more successful.

She bent down first to pick up the lipstick and handed it to Zhu Wenshu. “Teacher Zhu, you—”

“I’m not going with you two.”

Zhu Wenshu stared at her phone and said quietly, “You two go on ahead.”

“Huh?”

Shi Xue’er didn’t understand. “It’s fine, he’s got the car anyway, he can drop you off on the way—it’s so late, and it’s snowing.”

Zhu Wenshu shook her head. “I still need to go… celebrate a birthday.”

“Celebrate a birthday this late?”

Zhu Qisen leaned in halfway. “Aren’t you cold? Just go home early.”

“None of your business!”

Shi Xue’er, struck by a thought, smacked Zhu Qisen, then turned to smile at Zhu Wenshu. “Alright then, Zhu Qisen and I will head home first. Teacher Zhu, don’t stay out too late.”

The two of them pulled at each other, walking off toward the parking lot, and after a while their figures vanished completely from view. Only then did Zhu Wenshu remember—

Zhu Qisen had taken her flowers with him!

Zhu Wenshu sighed in frustration, hesitating over whether to chase after him, when her phone buzzed again.

【c】: Lu Manman is at the entrance to pick you up.

She turned around and, sure enough, saw that familiar-looking girl.

Zhu Wenshu jogged over, meaning to say hello, but Lu Manman looked at her with a startled, curious expression.

“Little—” She caught herself mid-word. “Miss Zhu, please, come with me first.”

The now-empty venue had only cleaning staff tidying up, and amid the softly falling snow, it felt especially desolate.

Seeing all this, Zhu Wenshu’s steps lost their sense of reality once more.

It felt as though today’s concert had been nothing but a dream, everyone else had left, and only she hadn’t woken up yet.

The two of them passed through an empty corridor and pushed open a large door, entering a space bustling with staff of every kind.

Lu Manman walked ahead of Zhu Wenshu, glancing around, muttering to herself, “Where is he… Miss Zhu, wait here, I’ll go—”

A sound came from behind her, and when Lu Manman turned around, she found Zhu Wenshu had vanished.

She glanced at the emergency exit nearby, pressed her lips together, and pulled the door tightly shut—

Inside, Zhu Wenshu leaned against the wall, her chest rising and falling slightly, her gaze fixed on Ling Chen before her.

He was still wearing that white shirt, and when he lowered his eyes to look at her, there seemed to be a few grains of snow still clinging to his lashes.

After a long moment, he finally spoke. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Whether it was from singing too long, his voice was a bit hoarser than usual.

“You said you’d celebrate my birthday.”

Zhu Wenshu said softly, “Of course I was going to come.”

Ling Chen lowered his head, his gaze slowly drifting down to her hands.

“Why are your hands empty?”

“I bought flowers, but they got taken by a friend—”

Zhu Wenshu’s voice cut off abruptly as a warm hand wrapped around hers. She looked down and saw Ling Chen holding her hand.

In her daze, something sparkling was slipped around her wrist.

It was clearly something cold, yet it made Zhu Wenshu’s entire hand feel as if it were fizzing with sweetness.

She stared at it for a long while before murmuring, “What is this?”

“A birthday present.”

Seeing her stay silent for a long moment, Ling Chen asked, “Don’t you like it?”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Of course she liked it. She was just thinking—if this happened to be something expensive, how could she possibly accept it?

“Or maybe,” Ling Chen’s gaze settled back on her face, “you’d prefer fireworks?”

“…No.”

Zhu Wenshu shifted her neck. “It’s too expensive.”

“It’s not.”

Ling Chen let out a long breath. “I didn’t pay for it.”

Zhu Wenshu looked up sharply. “Hm?”

Seeing her expression, the corner of Ling Chen’s mouth curved slightly.

“Don’t worry.”

“?”

“I told you—I sell my talent, not myself.”

Zhu Wenshu: “…”

Her hand was still held in his; she didn’t pull it away.

She turned her face away awkwardly, the fingers of her other hand curling into her sleeve.

The two of them fell into an inexplicable silence, yet the air in the emergency stairwell felt hot, as if the heater had been turned on.

After a while, Zhu Wenshu heard Ling Chen ask, “So, do you like it?”

Zhu Wenshu was just about to answer when an unfamiliar voice suddenly sounded from the corridor beyond the wall, and Ling Chen instinctively glanced toward the other end.

“I’m done for, I don’t think I’ll ever climb out of this hole. I’m doomed for life.”

“Ugh… me too.”

“Help, I really, really love Ling Chen, I love this concert so much.”

The voices faded as the two passed by.

In the dim light, Ling Chen turned back and raised an eyebrow at Zhu Wenshu.

“What about you?”

“…”

Zhu Wenshu’s voice was very quiet, but very clear. “Me too.”