Chapter 75
The old music box and speaker suddenly began playing an unfamiliar melody, carried by the wind through every corner of the narrow alley. A flock of white pigeons took flight, soaring into the sky just as the city’s central clock struck seven.
Fang Huai stood at the center of it all.
As the song came to an end, its lingering notes faded into silence. The shop owner frowned, checking whether his music box had malfunctioned, while passersby who had paused briefly tightened their coats and hurried on.
Fang Huai kept one hand in his pocket while the other pressed against his earpiece, his gaze lowered. After a long moment, he softly asked, “Say what?”
Between faint static and the whisper of the wind, their breaths intertwined across a great distance.
Ye Yuyuan remained silent. Fang Huai thought for a moment before asking again, “Ye Yuyuan, where are you? I… I want to see you.”
There was a pause before Ye Yuyuan spoke in a low voice, “Turn around.”
Fang Huai’s breath caught for a second, but in the next moment, confusion set in.
—He thought he would see Ye Yuyuan. But there was no one behind him.
Only an empty alley, leading to another street lined with lush greenery.
Then, the voice in his Bluetooth earbuds changed, replaced by the mechanical tone of an AI navigation system:
“Ptah Maps is now guiding you. Proceed straight for 100 meters, then turn right onto Chengnan Road.”
Fang Huai: “…”
He raised his eyebrows slightly, feeling the urge to laugh.
What was Ye Yuyuan up to?
Following the AI’s instructions, he took one step after another. The sky darkened little by little, and the old district, separate from the dazzling lights of the city center, exuded a quiet charm steeped in everyday life. As he walked, the street lamps and shop lights flickered on one by one, illuminating his path in silent, gentle accompaniment.
The walk wasn’t long—barely five minutes.
Fang Huai arrived at the edge of an old railway platform, one of the oldest in the city, adjacent to the historic district. It was built during the era when trains had first been introduced to China.
As twilight fully descended, the wind carried the distant, resonant sound of a train whistle:
“Woooo—”
A green-painted train pulled into the station, its doors opening with a creak. Its exterior paint was faded and peeling, and the entire train swayed slightly, as if bridging the gap between past and present, stopping just for him.
The evening breeze ruffled the strands of hair at Fang Huai’s forehead, revealing the clear, light hue of his eyes beneath.
He let out a slow breath.
Pausing only briefly, he stepped onto the train—alone, without any luggage.
Inside, the carriage was empty. The lights remained off, and the fading daylight streamed in through the expansive glass windows. Two rows of seats faced each other, standing silently as if untouched by time.
Unlike regular trains, this one had been modified for sightseeing purposes. Its windows stretched seamlessly along both sides, offering an unobstructed view of the city beyond, where thousands of lights flickered to life.
A lone figure sat by the window, holding an old book in his palm. His gaze was lowered slightly, his presence half-shrouded in shadow and light.
Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, his cufflinks—polished obsidian—caught the faintest glimmer. He looked refined and reserved, and when he remained silent, he carried an air of aloofness, as if he were a world apart.
Until he looked up at Fang Huai.
“I rode this train when I was a kid,” Fang Huai said, lingering by the door with a small smile.
He hadn’t expected it to still be in operation after all these years.
It was the first train he had ever taken to Nan City, on the day Fang Jianguo brought him to the city for the first time. Outside the window had been a vast expanse of blue sky, pigeons soaring with the wind—a moment that had given him his first understanding of freedom.
This green-painted train had always represented happiness, freedom, and the call of distant places.
Ye Yuyuan sat there in silence, watching him. His dark eyes, softened by the evening light, held an inexplicable gentleness. His fingers, curled slightly around the book, tightened just a little.
And then, in a low voice, he murmured, “Is that so?”
Was it just his imagination, or did Ye Yuyuan seem a little… nervous?
…Nervous?
Before Fang Huai could think further, Ye Yuyuan had already stood up and walked over. Lowering his gaze, he adjusted Fang Huai’s scarf and said softly, “It’s time to depart.”
Fang Huai tilted his head slightly, observing him from up close.
The ache in his chest gradually faded, carried away by the gentle night breeze. Looking at Ye Yuyuan, he couldn’t find a single thing about him that was unlikable.
He asked in a quiet voice, “What did you want to say to me?”
Ye Yuyuan’s hands paused for a brief second. His gaze locked onto Fang Huai’s.
The world around them fell silent.
The wind and twilight faded into the distance.
“Fang Huai…” Ye Yuyuan pressed his lips together as if searching for the right words.
And then—
“Woo—”
The long wail of the train’s whistle and the rhythmic clatter of wheels against the tracks drowned out his voice.
Fang Huai could only see his lips move, forming four syllables.
He had to ask: “What?”
Ye Yuyuan: “…”
He closed his eyes briefly before exhaling in resignation.
“Happy birthday.”
Fang Huai froze.
Oh. Right. December 3rd—his birthday.
He had never told anyone.
Ever since Fang Jianguo’s health had begun deteriorating three years ago, every birthday had been the same: a simple bowl of noodles, just like any other day. No different from the other 364 days of the year.
He looked at Ye Yuyuan, and for a moment, that familiar ache returned—bittersweet yet electrifying, swelling until it filled his whole heart.
Scratching his nose, he averted his gaze, feeling a little embarrassed. To cover up his emotions, he casually asked, “Thanks. Do I get a present?”
Truthfully, this train ride and those simple birthday wishes were already more than enough to surprise him. Fang Huai never expected much.
But to his astonishment, Ye Yuyuan gave a small nod and said, “Yes.”
The train pressed steadily forward, cutting through the night, gliding past the glow of city lights and the warmth of human life.
Beyond the window, the bustling crowds gave way to an endless, open sky.
That night, the stars shone brilliantly, one by one flickering to life.
Ye Yuyuan curled his index finger slightly and handed the old book resting on the seat to Fang Huai.
It was only at that moment that Fang Huai realized—it wasn’t just an old book; it was a slightly thick, well-worn notebook. On the title page, a single character, “Lin”, was written in flowing script. Flipping through a few more pages, he saw lines of English poetry, scrawled messily in hurried handwriting.
It was Lin Shuheng’s notebook.
Lin Shuheng had spent his life wandering, never settling in one place. His letters and journals had been scattered across different corners of the world, and to this day, not all had been recovered.
Fang Huai could hardly describe what he was feeling.
“Thank you,” he said, holding the notebook tightly in his hands. His light amber eyes locked onto Ye Yuyuan with sincerity. “I really like it… I really like it.”
You.
He silently added the word in his heart.
Lin Shuheng’s handwriting was rough and nearly illegible, but it was clear that the words were excerpts of English poetry. Fang Huai frowned slightly as he tried to make out the lines, when suddenly, Ye Yuyuan took the notebook from his hands and murmured:
“This is Neruda’s Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair.”
Fang Huai blinked. “Huh?”
“You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.”
Ye Yuyuan recited the line.
Fang Huai froze, his eyelashes trembling slightly as he lifted his gaze to study Ye Yuyuan’s expression.
The train swayed gently as it traveled further into the distance, as if moving through a long and romantic dream. Outside the window, the eternal glow of city lights intertwined with the stars. Inside the carriage, only a single night lamp illuminated their space, while the vast darkness outside and the soft wind wrapped them in quiet intimacy.
Ye Yuyuan gazed at him intently, closing the notebook in his hand as he continued in a low voice:
“When I love you, the pines in the wind want to sing your name with their leaves of wire.”
His deep, rich voice carried a faint rasp, as if speaking poetry from a time long past.
“I love you here, in this place where the horizon hides you in vain.
In these cold things, I still love you.
Sometimes my kisses travel through these somber ships, sailing across the sea without end.”
Fang Huai stared at him, his eyes widening slightly.
Ye Yuyuan met his gaze in silence. The light reflected in his obsidian eyes was soft, warm.
“It’s a love poem.”
Fang Huai’s ears burned instantly, his words stumbling over themselves.
“Oh… oh, I see.”
Neither of them spoke again.
By now, the stars outside had fully emerged, twinkling against the dark expanse. The green train slowed as it weaved through the city, twisting and turning along the tracks.
The railway had never been dismantled. Until last month, it had still been in operation—two trips a day.
Over the years, as the city evolved, apartment buildings and streets had sprung up alongside the tracks. People lived there, waking in the morning and resting at night.
Their lives were like a simple yet beautiful folk song.
Ye Yuyuan picked up a sketchbook from the seat.
“This… is for you too.”
His voice was tight, almost strained.
Fang Huai took the sketchbook from him. Ye Yuyuan immediately looked away, avoiding his gaze, his thumb unconsciously rubbing against his cufflink.
Fang Huai stared at the sketchbook, momentarily stunned.
He recognized this sketchbook. It was the one Ye Yuyuan had used before—to draw the person he liked.
Fang Huai: “…???”
His mind snapped into clarity, a dull weight pressing against his chest.
He knew he had come late. Ye Yuyuan was older than him by several years; it was only natural that he had someone he liked. Fang Huai didn’t mind. He believed that as long as he worked hard enough, one day, Ye Yuyuan would come to like him too.
But giving him the sketchbook—what did that even mean?
Confused and at a loss, Fang Huai looked at Ye Yuyuan. Was he trying to tell him that the person he liked was beautiful and that he should treasure the sketches as a keepsake?
What kind of logic was that?
After a long while, Ye Yuyuan finally looked back at him. Hesitating for a moment, he asked, “You’re not going to look?”
Fang Huai clutched the sketchbook and notebook in his hands, forcing a casual tone. “I… I’ll look when I get back.”
Pretending to be interested in the scenery, he turned to face the window.
He even whistled—acting as if nothing had happened.
Ye Yuyuan: “…………”
Huh?!
The train continued its slow, steady journey forward, but an awkward atmosphere settled between them.
Fang Huai couldn’t deny it—he was feeling a little disappointed.
From Ye Yuyuan’s perspective, it made sense. He saw Fang Huai as a junior, a friend, maybe even family. But it wasn’t the kind of ‘like’ that meant love. He had no reason to consider Fang Huai’s feelings in that way.
But the sketchbook—it was an unmistakable reminder that Ye Yuyuan still liked someone else. Not him.
Frustrated, Fang Huai began sulking.
Just moments ago, when Ye Yuyuan had recited that love poem, Fang Huai had nearly convinced himself that maybe—just maybe—Ye Yuyuan felt something for him too.
The train moved forward in silence, cutting through the bustling cityscape before suddenly climbing a steep incline. The carriage swayed violently.
“Fang Huai,” Ye Yuyuan hesitated for a moment, then said, “We’re about to go downhill, you—”
Fang Huai, still lost in his thoughts, suddenly turned to look at Ye Yuyuan—remembering their argument from not long ago.
His voice was filled with disbelief as he asked, “Why can you like someone, but I can’t?”
Ye Yuyuan pressed his lips together. Remembering his own self-imposed contradictions from before, he could only murmur: “…I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you liking someone,” Fang Huai lowered his gaze, his voice quiet and muffled. “But you should keep the sketchbook. It’s important to you. If you give it away, she might not be happy about it.”
Ye Yuyuan said nothing.
“Also, I actually…”
Fang Huai started to speak but suddenly stopped.
At that moment, the window beside him was pushed open. A gust of night wind rushed in, flooding the carriage with the vast glow of the starry sky. Countless city lights stretched endlessly before them.
And then, in an instant—one by one, the lights began to go out.
The train glided through the streets, weaving through the heart of the city.
In just ten seconds, the vast city of Nan City was swallowed by complete darkness.
Fang Huai: “…?” Power outage?
He looked at Ye Yuyuan in confusion.
At that very moment, the train reached a downhill slope and suddenly accelerated.
Ye Yuyuan stood silently before him, his dark eyes reflecting Fang Huai’s image. Then, without a word, he reached out and took Fang Huai’s hand, pressing it firmly against his own chest.
The entire city was shrouded in speechless darkness. With the abrupt change in light, Fang Huai could see nothing at all.
But he could feel it.
Beneath his palm—Ye Yuyuan’s heartbeat.
Thump. Thump… Thump-thump-thump.
One beat after another, urgent yet steady, gradually quickening.
In the boundless darkness, only the stars shimmered faintly. Ye Yuyuan’s lips parted slightly, his voice low and husky at the edges as he asked:
“Can you hear it?”
Fang Huai instinctively responded, “Hear what?”
A long silence followed.
Ye Yuyuan gazed at him intently, his lips pressed tightly together before he finally spoke in a low voice.
And in the next second—
Fang Huai’s breath came to a complete stop. His eyes widened, little by little.
The train carried them through the eternal night, gliding through the heart of the city.
Then, in the midst of the darkness—the lights suddenly blazed back on.
At that very instant, fireworks soared into the sky, exploding brilliantly at the center of the night.
In the bustling downtown streets, people whistled, laughed, and cheered as they watched the fireworks. Friends embraced, lovers kissed beneath the cascading sparks. The city, which had been shrouded in dead silence just moments ago, was now alive with sound.
Countless speakers and devices, without any manual operation, began playing music on their own. From deserted alleyways to the bustling streets of the city center, a flowing piano melody emerged—soft at first, then gradually rising, until it filled the vast sky.
It started with a heavy, suffocating stillness—like a body sinking into deep water—followed by a minute and a half of low, mournful notes. From desperate struggle to helpless surrender, and finally, to complete resignation.
At first, people across the city continued their casual conversations.
A girl waiting in line at a milk tea shop chatted with her friend:
“I heard ‘Abyss Moonlight’ is total garbage—just a cash grab. My friend bought the album and says it was a complete waste of money.”
“I mean, it didn’t even get nominated for the Silver Birch Awards. What else do you expect?”
“By the way, where’s this music coming from? Is the supermarket running another raffle or something?”
“Wait a second… why does it sound like—”
Thirty seconds later, the chatter faded.
One by one, people stopped in their tracks, standing motionless. Drawn in by the melody, their hearts felt as if they were being pulled into the depths of an endless ocean.
And then—
A deep, resonant thud.
The final note lingered, then slowly faded into silence.
For one breathless second, the world was blank.
The next second—
Emotion surged to its peak without any buildup!
Countless notes intertwined, reverberating and swirling through the air, weaving a net that enveloped the entire city in the night. Accompanied by fireworks and lights, the music pulled hearts that had long been weighed down by repression and despair into the warmth and romance of the world. Every breath, every heartbeat, had never felt so vivid.
To see the world, to see the people, to see oneself.
It was impossible to describe the impact of that moment.
As if in just a few minutes, one had relived half a lifetime through the melody. Everything lost, regretted, or missed returned all at once—suffering and joy surging up to the throat, transforming into choked sobs that flowed through the trenches of life.
Many people had long since lost the ability to feel such raw emotions. With the rise of short videos, fast-paced entertainment, and high-intensity stimulation, modern life bombarded people with an endless stream of new information, making it increasingly difficult to be genuinely moved.
Many forms of entertainment from past generations had faded from view—not because they lacked merit, but because they were too pure, unable to keep up with today’s tempo.
But when it comes to music, no expertise in theory is needed to tell if a song is truly good.
It transcends gender, age, and identity—because at the deepest level of the soul, all humans are connected.
By a night market stall, a six-year-old boy sobbed uncontrollably. In front of a milk tea shop, a high school girl quietly lowered her head to wipe away her tears.
In front of an old residential building, an elderly woman selling roasted sweet potatoes dabbed at the corners of her eyes. Inside a high-rise office, a fifty-year-old executive suddenly found his vision blurred with tears.
And on the street, a middle-aged Chinese-American man dragging his suitcase gradually slowed his steps.
He stood still and listened to the entire song.
Then, in silence, he pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and incredulously asked, “This song… didn’t even get nominated?”
*
The night breeze was gentle, and the stars stretched endlessly across the sky.
As the train passed through the bustling city, Fang Huai heard nothing—only the sound of his own breath and heartbeat.
Ye Yuyuan held his hand, pressing it against his chest, where his heart pounded—fast and resolute, one beat after another.
“Do you hear it?”
Ye Yuyuan’s deep, slightly hoarse voice brushed against his ear, unbelievably soft.
At that very moment—Fireworks burst one after another, illuminating the entire world.
It was as if a storm of firelight had suddenly descended upon the earth, or like an unanticipated, dazzling, and romantic dream.
Then, Ye Yuyuan spoke.
Word by word, in a quiet voice:
“It’s saying…”
“I love you.”
The stars shimmered. The wind never ceased.
I’m gonna scream