Chapter 24.2

He lowered his gaze to the person before him.

Yun Yin pressed her lips tightly together, her eyes slightly reddened, looking deeply distressed.

She was grieving for him.

Realizing this, Pei Yu’s breath hitched.

Seeing her like this, Pei Yu stopped speaking, suddenly unwilling to tell her the story’s ending.

He didn’t want to imagine her reaction—fear or pity. He only knew he didn’t want her to be afraid of him.

“Perhaps death was a release for her,” Pei Yu murmured, his voice low, neither relieved nor simply stating a fact.

Yun Yin stared at him for a long moment before abruptly throwing her arms around him.

Pei Yu’s pupils constricted slightly, his throat bobbing.

After a moment, he lowered his head and returned her embrace. “What’s wrong?”

Yun Yin shook her head, silent for a while before asking in a muffled voice, “Were you… were you very scared back then?”

How could he not have been terrified, watching his own mother take her life before his eyes?

Pei Yu’s eyes darkened slightly. “I don’t remember.”

“Liar.”

How could he possibly forget?

Pei Yu remained silent, his gaze heavy as he looked down at her.

Perhaps he had been afraid then, but now he had forgotten.

The intensity of his gaze softened as he focused on the woman in his arms, and the lingering shadows in his heart dissipated like smoke.

“It’s all in the past,” Pei Yu said, his voice calm and matter-of-fact.

It seemed, as he said, that it truly was over.

Yun Yin nestled against Pei Yu, recalling the plot of the book. The more she thought about it, the more her heart ached.

His words only deepened her pain. It wasn’t over at all.

In the end, he had lost everything, left with nothing.

His existence had merely been a tool for the author, a prop to elevate the male lead and advance the plot.

His life shouldn’t have been like this.

Yun Yin frowned involuntarily. It shouldn’t have been this way at all.

Pei Yu watched her, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Why do you look more upset than I am, Ah Yin?”

He raised his hand and gently patted her thin back in a comforting gesture.

Pei Yu had never soothed anyone before. This was his first time.

But this was Yun Yin. Suddenly, Pei Yu didn’t mind comforting her.

“There’s nothing to be sad about. It’s all in the past. I simply don’t want to celebrate my birthday.”

The events might be over, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t happened. The pain and scars they left behind could never be erased.

Yun Yin’s eyelashes fluttered slightly. “I’ll be good to you from now on.”

She resolved to treat Pei Yu better, even better than before.

Pei Yu hadn’t expected Yun Yin to say such a thing. He lowered his gaze and stared at her for a long moment, making sure she was serious, before slowly asking, “What if you regret it?”

What if you discover I’m not the person you imagined, and not a good person at all? What if you regret it then?

Yun Yin didn’t understand why he would ask such a question. She simply replied, “I won’t regret it.”

Her voice was soft but utterly resolute.

Since she had made him this promise, he would take it to heart. She couldn’t forget it now.

Even if she regretted it someday, Pei Yu would never let go.

After a brief silence, he gently brushed a stray strand of hair from Yun Yin’s temple, his touch as light as if handling a precious and fragile treasure.

“How will you be good to me?” he asked.

Yun Yin pondered for a moment, then seemed to have an idea. “I’ll give you a gift.”

A gift that would lift his spirits.

She started to stand up, but the next moment she abruptly bumped her head against Pei Yu’s chin.

She stumbled back, tilting her head to see a red mark on his jawline where she had accidentally hit him. Her eyes filled with concern. “Does it hurt a lot?”

“It doesn’t hurt much, just a little numb.”

Pei Yu was about to reply when he lowered his gaze and met Yun Yin’s worried, concerned eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he swallowed the words he’d intended to say, instead saying, “It’s not too bad.”

For someone like Pei Yu, “not too bad” meant it hurt.

Yun Yin felt a pang of guilt, her eyes filled with even greater concern. She gently rubbed Pei Yu’s jawline. “Does this help at all? Never mind, let’s apply some ointment.”

As she withdrew her hand to fetch the medicine, Pei Yu caught her wrist. “No need. Just rubbing it is enough.”

Trusting him, Yun Yin sat before him and resumed her gentle massage.

Pei Yu closed his eyes lightly. After a while, he grasped Yun Yin’s hand. “It’s fine now. You don’t need to rub it anymore. The pain’s gone.”

“Really?” Yun Yin’s delicate brows furrowed slightly. “But it still looks a bit red.”

“Really,” Pei Yu insisted. Then he asked, “You were in such a hurry earlier. What were you trying to do?”

Only then did Yun Yin remember what she had been about to do when she stood up.

“Wait here,” she said, and her slender figure vanished at the foot of the stairs in an instant.

He watched Yun Yin’s retreating figure, his gaze lingering long after she had disappeared.

At that moment, he realized with startling clarity that something related to Yun Yin was subtly slipping out of control, veering off course.

Yet he had no intention of stopping it.

Before long, Yun Yin returned with a guitar in her arms.

“I’ll sing for you,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.

She had never sung in front of anyone before.

Pei Yu was her first audience.

“Okay,” Pei Yu replied.

Suddenly, he recalled that rainy night and the soft melody she had hummed.

Everything became vivid, replaying in his mind.

Yun Yin held the guitar without a pick. Her slender, pale fingers pressed against the strings, her fingertips gently tapping the wooden soundboard.

Pei Yu watched her, the turmoil in his heart calming into stillness. Only the rhythmic wooden tones of her tapping filled the air.

Yun Yin’s fingers were long and delicate, with clearly defined knuckles—hands perfectly suited for the piano. The guitar seemed an incongruous instrument for her; it was hard to imagine her singing while holding one.

At that moment, Yun Yin sat before the floor-to-ceiling window, the damp rainy night stretching behind her.

She propped up one leg, cradling her guitar, and gazed down as her fingers plucked at the strings. Her white skirt swayed gently with her movements, like a flawless white cloud drifting across the horizon.

After a few seconds, a slow, melodious tune flowed from her fingertips, filling the quiet living room.

She sang a pleasant, unfamiliar song, her clear, pure voice blending with the gentle guitar melody. A faint smile played on her lips.

When the song ended, the final echo of the guitar faded into the air.

“Did you like it?” Yun Yin bit her lip, her bright peach blossom eyes shimmering as she looked at him.

After a long silence, Pei Yu’s hoarse voice finally broke through, thick with an emotion so intense it seemed unbreakable.

“It was beautiful.”

He stared intently at her, his gaze focused and tender.

Yun Yin froze, meeting Pei Yu’s gaze.

An unfamiliar sensation swirled within her, spreading slowly from her fingertips to her heart with each beat of her pulse—an emotion she had never experienced before.

In the quiet living room, it felt as if they could clearly hear each other’s heartbeats.

“Pei Yu.”

“Happy Beginning of Winter.”

Not “Happy Birthday,” but “Happy Beginning of Winter.”