Chapter 73: The Gentle Light Will Eventually Shower the Timid Body; People Will Always Encounter Their Own Golden Hour

The sky was dark, and the wind howled with a ferocious storm. A reflection of an unfamiliar city appeared in the sky—a sight no one had ever seen before. Overnight, everyone was taking photos of the sky, more excited and fearful than if a UFO had appeared. Online, the photos and speculation spread wildly—some suggested that a geomagnetic storm might have brought us closer to another planet, allowing humanity to glimpse a new world. Others meticulously analyzed maps, hypothesizing about cyberpunk-style architecture mixed with natural landscapes, as if it were a collision of mythological and technological forces from a fantasy story. No one could definitively conclude which game it was.

But no one was without panic.

Wen Li personally selected the flowers to be delivered to her clients—her professional habit made her remember every client’s preferences. Holding a bouquet of pink lychee roses, she intended to return to the office first to pick up freshly printed brochures. But the moment she opened the elevator, Wen Li let out a startled “Wow!” What should have been a black-and-gray office was now empty. Her subordinate, dressed in all black with scissors for styling, was gone. The hardest-working newly promoted girl and the lively man who always lightened the mood were also missing, as if her company had never existed.

She opened her chat window—her top-pinned employees, the contacts responsible for past shows, the event groups she had coordinated—all were gone. Logging into the software to check her business information, even her company’s details had disappeared!

She called a client while holding the flowers. It took three calls before someone answered: “Who is Wen Li?”

“La, it’s me, Wen Li. We met just a few days ago, don’t you remember?”

She rushed out to the roadside, where a private car came speeding recklessly toward her, perfectly synchronized with the abrupt hang-up tone on the phone. Only then did she realize—the mysterious force that had once given her a chance to change her fate—had ended. An eight-hundred-yuan bouquet of pink lychee roses fell to the ground. Trembling, she checked her bank account balance—sure enough, along with the initial dream-funding money, everything had been taken away.

Her first reaction was to return this beautifully packaged bouquet of pink lychee roses. At her current economic level, she could no longer afford such a luxury. She couldn’t clean off the dirt, so she wiped it off with her sleeve. Then, turning to return to the flower shop, she realized the designer coat she had smeared with mud was worth thirty thousand yuan. She began to regret staining the clothes. A brand-new coat worn only once would fetch a different second-hand price after washing.

Her poverty was etched into her bones; her true nature revealed itself too quickly. Being penny-pinching was ingrained muscle memory.

The sky was conspiring something ominous. The thunder was unusually loud—it was going to be a typhoon. Wen Li’s first thought was that the brand-new apartment surely no longer belonged to her either. Her piano would likely end up abandoned on the street. She could part with everything else, but not that piano—her childhood treasure, absolutely irreplaceable.

But before that, she still went home, at least to check if her mother was safe. She hurriedly bought a bag of filling food, grabbing a handful of vegetables before checking out and rushing back home. When her mother opened the door, her face was full of worry. Seeing Wen Li return with groceries, she sighed in relief, but her words were cutting: “What, coming back from your fancy company to see if I’m dead yet?”

As expected. Wen Li didn’t have time for more. “Here, take these to eat. I need to go.”

“Do you even have any money?”

“The clothes I’m wearing are yours. They’re good quality; sell them if you want. But today, I’m telling you clearly: the piano is mine. Don’t steal it again. If this shabby house leaks, the piano will be completely ruined. I can’t control your life.”

“Ask me for it? Fine, give me a million yuan, and you can tear down the roof and take it. Aren’t you rich? Otherwise, step over my corpse today!”

“A million?” Wen Li laughed aloud: “I have nothing now. Believe it or not. Why don’t you sell me? You’re good at selling things, aren’t you?”

Her mother raised her hand and hit her head—or rather, her scalp—and pulled her by the shoulders to beat her back: “I raised you, and you turned out to be such an ungrateful brat. I lived here when you were little, and even now that you’ve succeeded, I’m still here. I haven’t even moved into a new house. All you do is come asking for the piano. Do you have any conscience?”

“I have no money, nothing at all. In your eyes, am I useless because I don’t make money? I’m just an ordinary person!”

Outside, the wind had already started blowing. The glass roof of the sunroom rattled loudly. The phone rang, and her mother immediately forgot she was beating Wen Li, rushing to answer it. Wen Li looked around the house—at the furniture. Her grandmother’s dowry, a rosewood cabinet and tea table worth hundreds of thousands, had been sold. By the wall, there was an empty space where a sewing machine her mother had fought hard to reclaim during her father’s infidelity and divorce used to be—it must have been sold at a discount too. And those proud woven fabrics, now dyed, yellowed, and even rotting against the wall, filled the room with the smell of decay. Touching the dirty fabric, she wanted to wash her hands but saw the faucet wrapped in black tape dripping water through the cracks, occasionally costing her money she didn’t have to spare, yet unable to afford even a replacement faucet. She had once sewn lacework that only Japanese craftsmanship could replicate, tirelessly taking on export sample garments, each one a unique piece, now called “one-off” in trendy terms.

She herself was her mother’s “one-off” creation. But no matter how she valued herself, in her mind, the seller would always be a man. After hanging up the phone, her mother hastily pushed her into the sunroom, locking the door behind her, leaving her trapped with the piano, just like when she was a child locked inside.

“Why are you locking me in, Mom, Mom!”

The wind whipped dried leaves, cigarette butts, and cans of milk tea down the road, knocking over a row of bicycles one by one. The air grew fierce, domineering, and merciless. Above and around her were brittle metal sheets. The sound of her knocking mixed with the wind battering the iron roof, easily mistaken for bad weather in the living room. Through the crack in the door, she saw a tall middle-aged man enter—this must be her mother’s latest boyfriend, smoking Zhongnanhai cigarettes, revealing yellow teeth, his feet propped up on the sewing machine, atop a white lace cloth. Her mother paid no attention, even offering him tea. Meanwhile, Wen Li, disheveled and unwanted, was the shameful daughter.

But she had grown into a poised, experienced woman. She could have kicked the door and thrown a tantrum, scaring off the boyfriend, but she no longer wanted to play the role of the hysterical daughter. She sat quietly at the piano bench, reflecting on the fleeting six months she’d had. She had supported so many emerging designers and worked on crafts. Even though all of that had been taken away, she had at least experienced and possessed it.

The voices behind her were louder than the typhoon.

“We’re still short on money. Setting up a shop in Nanchang isn’t easy. I lost money trading oil with others before, otherwise I’d have paid the deposit in minutes.”

“I can’t gather it all at once either.”

“What about your daughter? Isn’t she amazing?”

“She’s very busy, no time for me.”

“How can she refuse to help her mother? If necessary, borrow from her. Anyway, after paying for retirement and a few hospital visits, there’s no need to repay. Daughters have soft hearts…”

“I’ve already asked for money. She has nothing now. If you really need money, I’ll sell this shabby house, give half to my daughter, and take the rest to Nanchang with you. Don’t even think about her share…”

“Aren’t you angry at her? She’s not even a son!”

“She’s still my daughter. If you can’t handle it, leave!”

The wind grew louder, and she couldn’t hear the rest. But sitting at the piano bench, with thunder crashing overhead, she began to miss Duanmu Xuan—the guardian of the snow mountain, the boy who watched fireworks with her in Minnie City. Had he vanished from her world along with the pumpkin carriage?

The wind bent the trees, and the walls seemed to sway. Trapped in the greenhouse, Wen Li was a little scared. The metal roof thundered above, and pounding on the door yielded no response. At this rate, the roof would be blown off. Her mother’s makeshift greenhouse wouldn’t withstand such a typhoon—would the collapsing roof crush her? Rain had already seeped through the cracks, splashing onto her hands. Her first thought was that the door leading to her mother’s room was sturdier than the greenhouse roof. Maybe when the greenhouse collapsed, she could walk right out.

She rushed to save the piano. It was just a small organ, having lived in basements and been hoisted onto balconies and into living rooms. It had ascended to the heavens and descended to the earth, but now it was surely expelled from the luxurious house—it was the only thing that matched her previous status, though it wasn’t even considered furniture, far from the grandeur of a grand piano. Still, she had to retrieve it. It was the piano her family of three had learned sheet music on, crowded together on the bench, arguing over which key was “do.” It was also the place where she and her mother, living in the basement, often reconciled after arguments. Locked in here, Wen Li felt like she was back in the small room listening to her mother argue with other men. She had never understood her mother’s logic in locking her own daughter in a room and forgetting about her, but it didn’t surprise her—when this woman fell in love, she forgot everything. Her daughter was the most embarrassing part of her life, but every breakup ended because of this “useless” daughter.

She opened her phone to check the brands and shows she had collaborated with. None bore her name. Promotional materials, photos with brand owners, even the couple outfits worn by the actor she dated—everything had vanished. She remembered the night she narrowly avoided being hit by a car, begging for fate to reverse. Everything had come so easily, as if deliberately erasing the dark malice within her. But now the magic had disappeared. She had no money, no company, like an unreachable coat hanging next door. Her pride had been stripped bare and returned in one night.

Resentment bubbled up effortlessly. She habitually wanted to complain, to argue with someone. Years of poverty had nurtured hatred. After all, who gets locked in a greenhouse by their biological mother on a rainy day? Forget it—what kind of greenhouse was this, without flowers or light, just a makeshift shed!

The wind poured in through the gaps between the metal plates and walls. The typhoon widened the gaps—blowing open, please, if it opens, set me free. I’ve seen a bigger world; I can’t stay confined like a frog at the bottom of a well anymore.

She tried to pull apart the metal sheet—with a woman’s strength, it was difficult. Kicking it only wrecked her boots. She hid in the corner, waiting for the wind to grow stronger. This wind was indeed fiercer than ever before, persistently blowing through a fist-sized gap. Just a little more, and it would open!

With a rumble, another corner of the metal sheet tore open. As expected, the greenhouse would collapse under the through-draft. She wondered if her mother, who had fled the house, would feel sorry. Probably not—her mother’s motto was always “She’ll figure it out.”

When the wind created an opening large enough for a person, Wen Li squeezed her body through. Her anger hadn’t subsided, but trying to hail a taxi was futile—the streets were nearly empty. Running across the intersection, she slipped, blown several meters by the wind. The sound of fabric rubbing replaced abrasions, and her clothes were soaked. On the deserted street, she felt no pain, her first thought inexplicably returning to Duanmu Xuan. How could he possibly appear in this storm?

But soon, she saw a red shadow. She thought she was mistaken—how could she see Duanmu Xuan with rain blinding her eyes? But within seconds, she knew. The person who could scoop her up effortlessly, calm and fearless in extreme weather, could only be Duanmu Xuan.

A stunned Wen Li couldn’t believe it was real: “How are you here?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. If you need me, I’ll naturally come.”

“You’re late. I don’t need you.”

“Don’t lie. Tell me, where’s your house? I’ll take you home.”

“Who goes home after meeting you?”

“So, you’re making me your home?”

“Hmph!” Wen Li said this with a laugh, unsure whether her face was wet with rain or tears.

Duanmu Xuan bent down and lifted her in a princess carry, running a few steps to grab the door handle under the awning. Wen Li had never been held like this before, even worrying that both of them might be swept away by the wind. But touching his shoulder, she felt heat and resilience. His red clothes, soaked and blown by the wind, outlined a chiseled, handsome face and unwavering calm. With the wind forcing her eyes shut, she found solace in his embrace. Perhaps she was still under some spell. If the magic remained, she wanted to make one more greedy wish.

“Duanmu Xuan, can you help me with something?”

“What!” The wind and rain had weakened significantly. Duanmu Xuan strained to identify directions, raising his voice: “Come closer, I can’t hear you!”

Above, the reflection of the city still lingered, like a bizarre mirage.

The rain continued. Wen Li spotted the piano outside the entrance of a high-end residential complex, battered by the rain under the awning. The poor piano had endured countless storms, but fortunately, its thick lacquer protected it. In Love Continent , Duanmu Xuan had a flute—he was portrayed as a music expert—but seeing the piano, his sharp tongue remained: “Not bad, looks like an unearthed relic.”

“Are you going to help or not?”

Before Wen Li could react, Duanmu Xuan picked up the piano and carried it under the awning. His strength wasn’t stylish—it was absurd. He wiped the rain from his face: “Since you can see me, do you really not know where I’m from?”

“…”

“If you know who I am, you must realize I deal with machinery. Do you think I can’t handle this? With the magnetic storm, neither electric nor gas vehicles are reliable. Though primitive, a tricycle is the most effective.”

Wen Li was still dazed, but she knew Duanmu Xuan’s abilities were limited. Perhaps soon, he too would disappear.

Happiness had never lasted long for her.

Duanmu Xuan chuckled: “I have other skills. Tell me where your house is—I’m miserable in this rain.”

Encouraged by some strange force, Wen Li ran into the old neighborhood straight to the courier station, paying to borrow a small cargo truck. The truck was an old-fashioned tricycle. As Duanmu Xuan glanced at it: “You have nowhere to sit.”

“I’ll sit on the piano bench. Ride steadily. It’s a bit far, but we can’t get a taxi now. Let’s go while the rain is lighter.”

Duanmu Xuan doubted the truck’s capacity: “Don’t blame me if we fall.”

Just ten meters in, Wen Li shouted: “I think I’m going to fall!”

“Impossible, I’ve got you!”

“Is this a superpower?”

“Sort of. Stop asking.”

In the heavy rain, Duanmu Xuan pedaled furiously, wiping the rain from his eyes occasionally. Wen Li held onto the ropes tied to the waterproof cover, finding the night’s events incredibly surreal. There were almost no pedestrians on the road; the waterlogged streets reflected a blurry yet clear world. When the wind blew, the shadows of buildings trembled, neon signs casting colorful plaster statues, traffic lights blinking like Wall-E’s wide-eyed gaze. Cars passing through puddles stirred up water like mechanical creatures swimming and bubbling. Ever since Duanmu Xuan entered her life, normalcy had ceased to exist; today reached its peak.

Her heart trembled—when she first met Duanmu Xuan, she was the cool, confident owner of a PR company, hosting exhibitions, parties, charity sales, and even attending torch festivals. She had done the coolest, most avant-garde things. In front of him, she exuded confidence, every gesture radiating sisterly charm, even helping him out in Minnie City. Now, exposed in her poverty, unable to tell him about her mother locking her in the greenhouse, she was the rejected poor girl who had earned love and respect through magic-like transformations, gradually exchanged for through relaxation.

Would Duanmu Xuan accept someone like me?

Duanmu Xuan pedaled hard: “This city looks much more likable now.”

“Why?”

“It’s quiet, without so many fake, tired people or judgmental stares. I’ve seen enough of that; I don’t want to see it anymore. Some music would be nice.”

“What, you want me to play for you?”

“Sure.”

She was about to say, “The piano will get wet,” but instead, she said: “Hold steady, I’m going to play. Don’t shake me off.”

She untied the ropes and crawled under the waterproof cover, lifting the keyboard stand. After a moment’s thought, she played Golden Hour . Golden Hour is the fleeting instant before sunset, bathed in golden sunlight, ephemeral yet beautiful, making everything gentle and compassionate. Meeting someone you love or pursuing something worthwhile can also be called a golden hour—something Wen Li had never experienced. Now, hiding under the pitch-black tarp, there was a romantic sense of stars just above her brows. The prelude calmed her heart. As the vehicle moved forward, the music flowing from her fingertips adorned the urban night. When she emerged again, the rain was still falling, and Duanmu Xuan hadn’t turned around. The entire city was serene and peaceful, fresh after being washed, empty yet filled with wandering love.

“Duanmu Xuan.”

“Hmm.”

“Did you hear it?”

“Of course I heard it. Do you think my hearing is that bad?” Duanmu Xuan’s voice was loud: “What’s the song called?”

“Golden Hour. The gentle light will eventually shower the timid body; people will always encounter their own golden hour.”

Duanmu Xuan didn’t speak, his broad shoulders visible from behind as he rode the old bike, panting heavily, deep in thought.

“Anything to say after listening? I’m a level ten pianist, aren’t you going to praise me?”

“I love you.”

“Huh?”

The rain must have soaked Duanmu Xuan’s brain for him to say such a thing. But she wiped her eyes—it wasn’t a dream; it was real. This red-clad boy stopped the bike, jumping a few steps to stand in front of her. She turned on the piano bench, her head covered by a giant purple patchwork quilt, but it didn’t stop her from marking this as the most unforgettable scene of her life. Duanmu Xuan, as soaked as she was, faltered for a few seconds after saying “I love you,” leaving her to take the initiative to reciprocate. To ensure she hadn’t misheard, she had to ask repeatedly: “Duanmu Xuan, our destination is my home, but it may no longer be a spacious, luxurious house. You’ll see a messy room that might not even qualify as a home, and it’s not as nice as you imagine… I advise you to wait until you see my house before saying that. Right now, you’re not thinking clearly.”

But Duanmu Xuan jumped in front of her, lifting her face and kissing her lips. He kissed her earnestly, making her unable to distinguish imagination from reality. Her cheeks and lips were wet with rain. Sitting on the piano bench, she forgot she was drenched, feeling only warmth. This handsome boy held her face, his youthful sincerity shining in his black pupils, reflecting her disbelief. Did she truly deserve such pure love?

“My time is running out. I love the experience voucher you gave me for the real world. Whether you bow to admirers under the spotlight or beg for attention while stuck in the depths, Wen Li, you deserve love. Thank you for letting me know, in this brief time, that I was cherished—not a red-clothed ghost, not a monster driven away by others.”