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Su Ling was somewhat lost. She felt as though life was a grand dream, and upon waking, she found herself in another cycle of existence.
The love she once cherished had become an illusion, the sacrifices she made unworthy. The people she despised, however, didn’t seem to fit that image anymore.
She was still battling a cold, having cried earlier by her grandmother’s window.
Her gaze was vacant, her complexion pale. She looked deeply sorrowful.
Qin Xiao asked softly, “Shall we go to the hotel first?”
Su Ling nodded. They found the nearest hotel. By then, Qin Xiao was completely drenched, water dripping from his clothes. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes red-rimmed.
Qin Xiao booked two rooms and escorted Su Ling to hers.
She pursed her lips and gently closed the door behind her.
This scene was hauntingly familiar. The last time, he had chased after her to give her that anklet, scaring her half to death.
Qin Xiao didn’t mention the letter, and neither did Su Ling. After seeing her to her room, Qin Xiao called the front desk to request a set of clothes.
It was the first time the staff had received such a request. Though the hotel was in a remote area, they did have bathrobes for guests.
Qin Xiao offered a generous price, prompting the customer service representative to hesitantly ask, “Sir, are you planning to go out again?”
“Yes.”
The clothes arrived shortly, and Qin Xiao took a few minutes to shower.
When he stepped out of the elevator with long strides, the receptionist hurriedly handed him an umbrella. Then she watched the tall figure of the man disappear into the rainy night.
“What’s he doing out in such heavy rain?” the receptionist wondered curiously, though she knew better than to meddle in guests’ affairs. Since she had to stay on duty, she decided to chat with her close friend: “We just had a super high-profile couple check in. Seriously, the guy is so handsome.”
“… You won’t believe me, but the handsome guy just left. If I get the chance when he comes back, I’ll take a picture for you.”
“It’s raining? Yeah, it is. I don’t know what he’s doing out there either.”
Fortunately, she wasn’t much of a fan of celebrities or dramas, so she didn’t recognize Su Ling.
After chatting for over ten minutes, the man returned.
The receptionist saw a guitar slung across his back.
There was a music store nearby, but she never expected him to run out in the middle of the night to buy a guitar!
She was so surprised that she forgot to sneak a photo.
Qin Xiao took the elevator up and headed straight to Su Ling’s room.
He knocked lightly, and her soft voice came from behind the door: “Who is it?”
“It’s me. Open the door.”
Su Ling had already finished her bath and was wrapped in a blanket. Remembering the previous incident, she didn’t want to open the door for him.
“I’m going to sleep.”
Qin Xiao lowered his voice: “Just five minutes, okay?”
She hesitated before getting out of bed to let him in.
He carried the chill of the outside air, but the moment he saw her, he curved his lips slightly.
Su Ling noticed the guitar on his back. She raised her eyes, her clear black-and-white irises reflecting his current appearance. She had no idea Qin Xiao could play the guitar.
She knew he was skilled at many things—shooting, horseback riding, racing—but playing the guitar was something she hadn’t expected.
Qin Xiao was nearly thirty, and those days of learning the guitar during his angsty teenage years felt like ancient history.
Back then, he thought it was cool, but a year or two later, he sneered at it. During those years, he picked up many bad habits—smoking, drinking, fighting—and never touched the guitar again.
His guitar teacher once joked, “If you ever play this for a girl someday, she’ll be overwhelmed with happiness.”
He scoffed, thinking no one was worthy of him lowering his head.
But now, as he thought of her—young, almost twelve years younger if she were born a little later—he wondered:
Would a girl her age really like this kind of thing?
If someone had told him ten years ago that he would one day try to please someone by revisiting his embarrassing past, he would’ve beaten them up.
Yet here he was, standing outside her door, wanting to give her everything.
She had been so heartbroken earlier, and his own heart felt shattered.
Her lashes were still damp from the bathroom steam, and she didn’t understand what he was about to do: “Qin Xiao, what are you doing?”
He smiled: “Singing for you.”
She was taken aback.
Qin Xiao feared she’d refuse: “Just five minutes. Don’t laugh even if I sing badly.”
She didn’t know how to handle this situation. In her mind, Qin Xiao had always been tone-deaf, domineering, and unreasonable. She had never heard him sing before.
She shook her head: “No, it’s too late. Go to bed.”
The walls weren’t soundproof.
Qin Xiao leaned against the doorway, pulling out the guitar and slinging it over his shoulder. His slender fingers casually strummed a chord.
The empty hallway echoed with the sound of the guitar.
He looked a bit mischievous, smiling: “If you don’t like it, I’ll play outside, alright?”
Su Ling was at a loss. Even her sadness momentarily faded as she glanced outside: “Then… then come in.”
He strode in confidently, wrapping her in a blanket: “Listen from the bed; it’s cold outside.”
Then he sat on the chair next to the bed and tuned the guitar.
Su Ling was cocooned in the blanket, only her small face peeking out. She could tell he was serious, so she quietly watched him.
At twenty-eight, the man bore no resemblance to the sunny, handsome boys from her school. He had long shed the awkwardness and vitality of youth, replaced by a more mature aura. Perhaps because he rarely smiled, his profile appeared stern.
When silent, he seemed brooding, and when his eyes narrowed, he looked fierce.
But now, as he bowed his head, his eyes carried a smile. He sang Chen Chusheng’s “Girl,” a song from several years ago. His deep, rich voice filled the room—
How many times have I dreamed of you, my girl
Dreamed of your beautiful smile
Reading your letters, singing your songs
The melody sounds so desolate
How many times have I dreamed of you, my girl
Dreamed of your beautiful smile
The sun burns for you, the moon rises for you
The stars blink for you
Hey hey~
My girl, my girl, I miss you so much
My heart breaks for you
The sun burns for you, the moon rises for you
The stars blink for you
She gazed at him.
She knew Qin Xiao was trying to comfort her. He had noticed her confusion and sorrow, understood how painful it was for her to lose a loved one. Qin Xiao probably didn’t enjoy singing—he furrowed his brows repeatedly, struggling to recall the lyrics and chords.
He made two mistakes but quickly corrected them on the second try.
He didn’t like it, but he kept singing. Though the song was meant to be cheerful, his domineering presence infused it with a different emotion entirely.
This man, who bowed his head and performed acts unfitting for his age, was coaxing the girl who refused to love him.
Su Ling had heard many beautiful songs, and aside from Qin Xiao’s naturally deep voice, everything else about his performance was terrible. Yet in this moment, he was the most tender version of himself she had seen in two lifetimes.
As he persisted through the third round, she blinked, and tears spilled down her cheeks.
The next note faltered.
He froze, panic flickering in his eyes: “Hey, even if I suck, you don’t have to cry, do you?”
After all, it had been ten years since he last touched a guitar. He wouldn’t have done something so juvenile if not for her young age.
His slightly calloused fingertips brushed her cheek: “Stop crying, alright? I won’t play anymore.”
This time, she didn’t pull away, letting him wipe her tears.
Qin Xiao tossed the guitar into the corner, cursing inwardly. He vowed never to touch it again unless he wanted to be an idiot.
Though his movements were rough, he naturally softened when touching her cheek. He sighed helplessly: “Su Ling, why do you cry so easily?”
She sniffled twice, her voice soft and delicate: “I… I feel so sad.”
He didn’t know how to console her—it wasn’t something he was used to. His unruly eyebrows and tone carried a hint of arrogance: “What’s there to be sad about? Birth, aging, sickness, and death are part of life. When my old man died, I went on living as usual. It’s just fate.”
That was why he lived without fear of death—it was likely one of the reasons.
She looked at him and nodded faintly.
“I’ll die too…”
In that instant, she saw his pupils contract sharply, filled with endless darkness that cut through the cold of the night.
The next moment, he masked that emotion and smiled: “No, you won’t. You’re still young, Lingling. You’ll live to be a hundred.”
But she had already seen his initial reaction. Su Ling suddenly became curious about how he, burdened with such extreme and terrifying feelings, would cope after her death in her past life.
She asked softly: “Qin Xiao, if… I could only live to be twenty-four. You…”
His fists clenched, his eyes brimming with layers of violent coldness, yet he smiled: “Don’t joke like that. Who curses themselves like that?”
Fear crept into her heart, and she didn’t dare to continue.
—If I die at twenty-four, how will the rest of your life be? Will it be filled with more love, regret, or hate?
She was actually afraid to know the answer. Su Ling buried her face in the blanket: “It’s late. Go to bed.”
Qin Xiao chuckled: “Alright. Still feeling sad, Su Ling?”
She mumbled: “No.”
Perhaps no one in this world understood life and death better than she did.
Qin Xiao picked up the guitar, lightly tapping a string. A faint sound rang out, and he laughed softly: “Pay me back, then. My song wasn’t free.”
From beneath the blanket, her eyes widened slightly.
Another soft pluck of the strings, and he drawled lazily: “Even street performers get tipped a few coins. □□ And you’re shedding golden tears.” As he spoke, he couldn’t help but smile, his overflowing tenderness hidden from her view.
Still trying to scare me.
Her small face peeked out, her cheeks pink with embarrassment: “You insisted on playing.”
He laughed: “Yeah, I like being masochistic, alright?”
This crude, straightforward description made her blush fiercely: “No… I know you meant well. Thank you.”
Her tone was gentle, the air was gentle, and his heart softened too.
He crouched in front of her, meeting her teary eyes: “Su Ling, look at me.”
He chuckled softly: “Don’t say things like that again. Consider it payment for my performance. I hate hearing that kind of talk, got it?” He couldn’t bear it.
After a long pause, she whispered: “Okay.”
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