The whole room just stared.

Next round of singers?

What did that mean?

Qin Zhiwei panicked. He grabbed a glass of water off the table and tipped it into Xu Ye’s mouth, then tried again. “Xu Ye — it’s Gu Mengyao. She’s here.”

The cold water helped. The fog in his head began to clear.

Xu Ye rubbed his eyes and looked up.

She’d clearly put thought into the outfit today. A pale blue sailor-style top, a little skirt, white socks pulled up to her ankles. The kind of look that would make any guy their age go a little weak.

Their eyes met.

And in that moment, something surged up in Xu Ye’s chest — nausea, anger, and regret all at once, hitting him at the same time.

He turned to Qin Zhiwei and said flatly, “I’ve had too much. I’m heading home.”

And that was it.

Under the stunned gaze of everyone in the room, Xu Ye hauled himself to his feet and walked out the door. He didn’t look back. Not once.

The door swung shut behind him with a heavy click.

Gu Mengyao stood there, and something inside her cracked — sharp and clean, like a vase hitting tile.

What is wrong with him?

Does he seriously not have feelings for me anymore?

No. That’s impossible.

That’s absolutely impossible.

Liu Qian leaned in close and whispered, “It’s fine — he’s jealous. Tomorrow just find a chance to clear the air, talk it out.”

Jealous. Gu Mengyao turned that over in her mind, and something in her settled. Yes. That has to be it. He saw me walk in with Duan Qingjun and he couldn’t handle it.

Qin Zhiwei, meanwhile, was genuinely at a loss.

What was going on with Xu Ye?

He used to chase after Gu Mengyao like she hung the moon. And now that look in his eyes — it was the same look his mom gave him when she was disappointed. Pure, unfiltered done with you.

Outside the KTV, the air was almost shockingly fresh.

A cool breeze moved through the street, and Xu Ye felt it cut right through the warmth of the alcohol. He started walking home.

The route took him past a lake. He moved at an unhurried pace, watching the moon, when he heard it — guitar music drifting from somewhere not far ahead. Clean, soft notes carrying through the quiet.

The alcohol hadn’t fully worn off, and going home meant his mom asking questions. Xu Ye stopped walking, thought about it for a moment, and followed the sound down the stone steps toward the water.

The music grew clearer as he got closer.

A girl was sitting on one of the stone benches by the lake, practicing. Xu Ye walked over and sat down on the bench nearby, not close enough to intrude.

He recognized the song immediately. Scent of Rice Flowers. [TL: 《七里香》(Qī Lǐ Xiāng) — literally “Seven-Mile Fragrance” — is a beloved Jay Chou song released in 2004, known for its gentle, nostalgic quality. The title refers to the sweet scent of rice flowers drifting across a summer landscape.]

Jay Chou, 2004.

Exactly ten years ago today.

Xu Ye leaned back against the bench and let the night settle around him. The lake caught the moonlight in shifting pieces, and the soft sound of water against stone made the whole world feel quieter than it had in years. After the headache of the KTV, the contrast was almost overwhelming.

He sat there for a few minutes, just breathing.

Then his stomach lurched.

Xu Ye shot to his feet. The girl must have caught the sudden movement because the music stopped instantly.

But he just pushed past her, bent over a trash bin nearby, and threw up.

The girl watched him from her bench.

Well. That was something.

Dinner was a total waste. Fifty yuan down the drain. Should’ve just stayed home — what was I thinking, going to that stupid reunion.

Once it was out, his stomach actually felt better. Xu Ye wiped his mouth and turned around — and for the first time, actually looked at the girl sitting across from him.

He hadn’t paid attention when he sat down. Now he couldn’t help it.

She looked young. Maybe seventeen or eighteen. White layered-look shirt on top, loose jeans. Her hair was dark and straight, falling over her shoulders like it weighed nothing. Fine, arched brows. Clear, expressive eyes. A delicate nose. In the moonlight, her skin had an almost luminous quality to it.

The two of them looked at each other. Neither spoke.

Then Xu Ye noticed the faint edge of are you serious right now in her expression, and snapped back to reality.

“Hey — sorry. Do you have any tissues?”

The girl’s face stayed completely neutral, wrapped in a cool self-possession that kept the rest of the world at arm’s length. She reached into her pocket, hesitated just a beat, then tossed a packet of tissues at his feet.

“Thanks.”

He crouched down to pick them up and pulled one out. They smelled faintly sweet — softer than perfume, somehow nicer.

Xu Ye straightened up and leaned against the lakeside railing, keeping a respectful distance.

“You’re pretty good,” he said. “Did you teach yourself?”

The girl didn’t answer. She went back to plucking at the strings.

Xu Ye didn’t push it. He decided he’d wait out the song, then head home.

She played through Scent of Rice Flowers in her own world, barely acknowledging that he existed. He might as well have been part of the scenery.

But when she was nearly at the end, a voice broke through the quiet:

“The chorus is running a little fast. And the timing’s slightly off — might be worth drilling with a metronome. The harmonics are nice though.”

The words were out of Xu Ye’s mouth before he could stop them.

Old habit. His last year in the guitar club at university, he’d spent half his time giving pointers to the newer members. The instinct had apparently survived the decade.

He immediately regretted it.

She wasn’t a freshman. He wasn’t a senior. This wasn’t the club room.

The girl looked up at him. Her face was still unreadable, but one eyebrow had shifted the tiniest fraction inward.

“That came out wrong — I was just talking. Don’t worry about it.”

She didn’t respond.

Instead, she lifted the guitar — the kind with a price tag that had six figures [TL: Six-figure RMB for a guitar would be roughly $14,000 USD or more — an extremely high-end instrument, the kind a serious or wealthy musician would own.] — and held it out toward him.

The look on her face, the gesture itself — it said everything without a single word.

Oh yeah? Then you do it.

Xu Ye didn’t argue. He stood up and walked over — and noticed, when he got close, that she shifted back just slightly on the bench. A small, almost imperceptible retreat. Keeping him at a distance.

He took the guitar, stepped back to the railing, and settled it over his shoulder. He ran through the chord shapes in his mind, and then his fingers found the strings.

The opening notes of Scent of Rice Flowers floated out into the night air, clear and unhurried, building as they went.

And when the first verse arrived, Xu Ye sang.

“The sparrow outside the window chatters away on the telephone wire You said that line had the feeling of summer in it…”

The girl’s eyes moved.

He actually can.

He’s better than me.

Did he… teach himself too?

Something shifted in her — just a flicker of curiosity, quiet and unbidden.

“All night my love overflows like rain butterflies on the windowsill like beautiful verses fluttering through a poem I keep writing I write forever loving you into the ending You are all I’ve ever wanted to know…”

The stars and moon stretched across the sky above them. The lake shimmered. The hills sat dark in the distance.

And for a moment, all of it became just the backdrop to a song.

(End of Chapter)