Chapter 38
The scattered notes intertwined, overlapping chaotically, playing themselves into existence.
Ye Yuyuan lowered his gaze, staring intently at the line and a half of notes on the calendar.
His knowledge of music theory was limited—he could barely piece together a rough idea. After a moment of silence, he looked at Fang Huai, pressing his lips together slightly.
“This part.”
It was only then that Fang Huai remembered the melody he had hastily jotted down an hour ago when inspiration had struck.
At that moment, Ye Yuyuan had asked him, “Do you want to go watch the stars?”
Fang Huai bent down to examine the melody. After a long pause, a flicker of something softened in his light amber eyes, “Do you want to hear it?”
Ye Yuyuan gave a slight nod.
His index finger curled subconsciously, as if to rub against his cufflink—only to realize he wasn’t wearing a suit. His expression remained composed, but if his secretary had been present, they would have noticed—rubbing his cufflink was a telltale sign of Ye Yuyuan’s nervousness.
And nervousness was an exceedingly rare emotion for him—This melody, just like Fang Huai’s previous song Heartbeat, was written for someone.
The realization came without warning, yet he was absolutely certain of it.
The small room was warm, the air thick with steam from the kitchen, and the night had fully settled outside, “Wait a moment.”
Fang Huai picked up a leaf and gently blew the melody. Since it was only a short passage, the tune was brief—just enough to catch the main motif before it faded into silence.
Fang Huai really liked this piece.
But he had no idea what Ye Yuyuan thought of it. Before he could look at the man’s expression, an unfamiliar sense of unease crept in.
Outside, the sound of rain rustled softly, muffled by the small window. The night was quiet and tender.
Ye Yuyuan stood in silence for a long time, his index finger curling and loosening again. His throat felt slightly tight.
“What’s wrong?” Fang Huai didn’t think the piece was that bad, but seeing the man’s reaction made his heart clench. “You don’t like it?”
With his back turned, Ye Yuyuan responded in a low voice, “It’s beautiful.”
His tone was as composed as ever, his face obscured by the shadows of the dim nightlight, but the huskiness in his voice betrayed something else.
Fang Huai let out a small breath of relief and turned toward the kitchen to grab a bowl.
Ye Yuyuan, however, remained motionless.
His posture was straight, his stance composed, but in the quiet night, he seemed like a statue—still, unmoving.
Yet, inside, he was anything but calm.
His index finger curled again, his breathing uneven.
A man who was usually stern and reserved now stood frozen in this small space, overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn’t quite name.
…How should he put this?
It felt like this song was written for him.
It was raining, so they couldn’t watch the stars.
Ye Yuyuan had been distracted ever since hearing that short melody.
At the dinner table, he silently picked at his food, awkwardly helping Fang Huai with dishes, though his gaze never met Fang Huai’s. Whenever their eyes accidentally met, Ye Yuyuan would quickly look away, his ears faintly tinged with red.
Fang Huai found it strange but lowered his head and continued eating. Yet, even when he wasn’t looking at Ye Yuyuan, he could still feel the other man’s gaze on him.
Fang Huai: “…?”
He wasn’t the talkative type, but he had tried to start a conversation. However, every attempt fell flat, so he eventually gave up.
The atmosphere felt inexplicably odd.
Halfway through the meal, Ye Yuyuan suddenly stood up as his phone rang.
Fang Huai glanced at him, nodded slightly, and mouthed: “Go ahead, don’t worry about me.”
Ye Yuyuan nodded, hesitated for a moment, then stepped out onto the balcony.
The call connected.
His heart had been racing the entire evening, and even the cool late-summer breeze felt unbearably warm.
He stood there for a while, listening absentmindedly.
Glancing back into the room, Ye Yuyuan turned away, the softness in his eyes fading as his usual cold, indifferent demeanor returned.
A moment later, a trace of ridicule flickered in his dark eyes.
He ended the call.
*
At the same time, Wang An was on the phone with Lin Shengyun.
“Fang Huai really can’t sing, can he? If you ask me, just drop it. It’s not worth dragging the whole production crew down with him. Give it another two or three days, and if he still can’t deliver… why not replace him? I mean, I’ve got a few good candidates in mind—talented, popular, the whole package.”
Lin Shengyun listened in silence, feeling an increasing sense of irritation.
Wang An was undeniably competent in his field, but this kind of attitude was something Lin Shengyun couldn’t stand. He was a stubborn man, with an artist’s innate pride. He had already made up his mind to reclaim some authority from Wang An, to stop him from calling the shots. His tone grew distant.
“There’s no need to discuss this any further. I’m not changing my decision,” Lin Shengyun said. “Fang Huai is fine. The situation isn’t as bad as you think. That’s it.”
He ended the call, and suddenly, amusement flickered in his mind.
He had just remembered something—something he hadn’t even had the chance to tell Wang An.
Because of this, even if Frost had to replace Wang An as music director, there was no way they would replace Fang Huai as the composer.
*
On the other end, Wang An hung up and cursed Lin Shengyun for being stubborn.
He had seen plenty of people like him—those who put on airs of artistic integrity, acting all high and mighty, only to eventually bow to capital and admit defeat.
The only reason he had originally recommended Fang Huai to Lin Shengyun was because of the business potential Fang Huai represented. But now, with Fang Huai supposedly running out of inspiration, that potential had vanished—replaced by a headache.
To Wang An, this was nothing but a losing deal.
*
The meal was coming to an end.
Fang Huai was actually a little disappointed. He thought his cooking was decent, yet Ye Yuyuan had been distracted the entire time. In the end, Fang Huai had eaten the entire plate of sweet and sour ribs by himself.
After a brief pause, Ye Yuyuan broke the silence and asked in a low voice, “Do you have any plans later?”
It was raining tonight, so they couldn’t watch the stars.
Fang Huai retracted his gaze from the window and vaguely replied, “I might… go to bed early.”
But that wasn’t the truth.
He had already sent a message to Shi Feiran, asking him to pick him up at nine o’clock. He had decided to follow Wang An’s suggestion and head over tonight. The filming location for Frost was in a neighboring city of Nanshi, only about a three-hour drive away.
It wasn’t that he felt pressured or forced—he hadn’t even picked up on the subtle threat in Wang An’s words. He just… really wanted to complete that half-written melody.
The absence of inspiration had never felt so frustrating.
That brief spark of creativity had come out of nowhere, and he had no idea what triggered it. Maybe a change of scenery would help.
Maybe Frost would be the key to unlocking it.
Ye Yuyuan let out a soft hum in response.
“What about you?”
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment, rubbing his fingertip against his thumb before replying in a low voice, “I’ll take you there.”
“…”
Fang Huai was momentarily confused. Had he accidentally spoken his thoughts out loud just now? He didn’t think so.
His mind quickly shifted back to that small fragment of melody.
He could sense that those few notes were like a tiny crack in an enormous, pale curtain—just barely revealing the colors and sounds rushing behind it. It had quickly closed again, but he had caught a glimpse.
And now, he desperately wanted to see the whole picture.
*
Three hours later.
Frost was set in the Republican era.
Its filming location was in a small, isolated fourth-tier city neighboring Nan City. It was a water town, where gray brick walls and white-tiled roofs lined the streets, and vendors still rowed small boats to sell late-night snacks. Despite modernization creeping in, the town had stubbornly preserved many of its old customs and traditions.
Night had fallen, and the rain continued to drizzle, leaving the streets damp. The town’s lights dimmed early, with only a few advertising signs still glowing faintly.
The car moved smoothly without much turbulence. Fang Huai had dozed off along the way.
His eyelashes rested gently against his cheeks, his breathing was steady, and the tip of his nose was slightly pink. He wore a slightly loose T-shirt, and in his arms, he cradled a small box while sleeping soundly against the seat.
That box contained a gift he had meant to give Ye Yuyuan.
He had never found the right moment, so he kept carrying it with him. And now, he had fallen asleep holding it.
In his dreams, faint images and sounds surfaced, yet everything felt distant, separated by a thin veil.
Laughter and chatter from a crowd echoed far away, but the place he was in remained quiet. The wind was a little cold.
The dream continued along that single image—the sky darkening little by little. A portion of the night sky was obscured, hiding the stars from view. He smelled the damp scent of earth mixed with rust, and the air grew even colder.
Until someone lifted him up.
Suddenly, the world expanded.
That person whispered something softly in his ear.
“…”
The dream abruptly ended.
Fang Huai opened his eyes and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.
The sky had yet to turn pale; light rain continued to drizzle outside. This wasn’t his home—this was the hotel near the filming location of Frost, close to the production team.
He glanced at the clock. 3 a.m.
The entire city was asleep. When he pushed open the window, he saw a small boat moored by the shore. Its lights had been extinguished, leaving only the reflection of starlight shimmering across the river’s surface.
There wasn’t a soul in sight. Shi Feiran was sleeping in the next room, his faint snores carrying through the quiet.
Fang Huai turned on the small night lamp and sat at the desk. Taking a deep breath, he uncapped his pen.
The tip touched the paper, marking the first note.
*
Three hours later.
Morning light gradually spread across the town, and the city regained its rhythm. The boats rocked on the water again, fishermen’s songs drifting with the breeze. The scent of fried dough sticks and soy milk from breakfast stalls filled the air.
Shi Feiran yawned as he stepped out of his room, ready to organize the day’s schedule.
The main plan was to take Fang Huai to visit the set.
Frost hadn’t officially started filming yet, but the set had already been constructed. Instead of using a studio, the production team had selected a new location and cleared it in advance. Actors had been arriving over the past few days, and the opening ceremony was just around the corner.
Online, the public relations team had done a good job of controlling the narrative around Fang Huai’s situation. The video in question—since it involved personal privacy—was swiftly taken down before it could spread widely. At most, it was being discussed in anonymous forums.
But behind the scenes, it was a different story. Some of the things being said were downright harsh.
Shi Feiran had only taken a few steps when he paused.
A crumpled piece of paper lay outside Fang Huai’s door.
Bending down, he picked it up and unfolded it.
It was covered in musical notes.
He knocked on Fang Huai’s door, and it opened almost immediately. Inside, the trash bin was overflowing with crumpled papers—what he had just picked up must have been pushed out from the pile. Every discarded sheet was filled with handwritten music.
“Why’d you throw this away?” Shi Feiran asked, puzzled.
“It wasn’t good enough,” Fang Huai said seriously.
Shi Feiran looked at the overflowing trash can, feeling a little incredulous. “When did you start working on this? Three or four in the morning? You should get some rest.”
Fang Huai shook his head.
Deep down, there was a stubborn defiance in him—he had never once considered the concept of giving up.
He could feel the barrier standing in his way, but that only made him more unwilling to admit defeat.
If once wasn’t enough, then he’d try again. He wasn’t afraid of exhaustion.
His mind was crowded with questions, and this song felt like the answer.
Love that for him.