Chapter 110

The vast music festival venue was silent, appearing expansive and desolate, a stark contrast to the lively scene from the last visit.

The main gate was tightly shut, and a fence surrounded the venue.

Approaching the gate, Jiang Ji took out a remote key and pressed it, causing the sliding door to slowly move aside.

Qin Qingzhuo didn’t know why Jiang Ji had the key to this place, but he didn’t ask any questions; he just followed Jiang Ji inside.

It was half-past five in the morning, and the snow was still falling.

The sky was dim, presenting a chaotic state between darkness and dawn.

After walking for a while towards the stage, Qin Qingzhuo could finally see that the surroundings had completely changed since his last visit, as if it had been recently renovated and redecorated.

About seven or eight meters away from the stage, they reached the tree against which he had leaned last time. Jiang Ji’s footsteps came to a halt.

Qin Qingzhuo stopped as well. “Why did you bring me here?”

Jiang Ji didn’t answer his question; instead, he turned his head to look at him. “Do you want to go on stage?”

Qin Qingzhuo stared at the stage in the distance without saying a word. Even he couldn’t clearly explain whether he wanted to go up there or not.

Perhaps because he had just reminisced too much about that concert on the way here, just looking in that direction from a distance, he could already feel the emotions of approaching the center of the stage back then— a mixture of anticipation, unease, and anxiety.

Then his hand was suddenly held. Jiang Ji’s palm was warm and dry, gently enveloping his fingers.

“Don’t be afraid,” Jiang Ji said as he led him towards the stage. This time, his voice didn’t sound cold; it was deep and, in the dim light of dawn, sounded quite gentle. “I’ll accompany you on the way.”

They walked hand in hand, covering the distance to the front of the stage together, climbed the stairs together, and gradually approached the center of the stage.

Jiang Ji guided Qin Qingzhuo to stand in front of a standing microphone. Then, he let go of his hand. “Wait for me here for a moment.”

The stage and the audience area regained their tranquility.

After a while, Jiang Ji spoke again, “Are you really not going to sing something for me?”

“The day we had an argument, I actually had a dream,” Qin Qingzhuo’s Adam’s apple bobbed, “In the dream, it was the same. You were waiting for me to sing, but in the end, I didn’t.”

“What happened next?”

“You left with disappointment, and I chased after you, but I couldn’t find you anymore.” Qin Qingzhuo closed his eyes, furrowing his brows slightly, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “These days, I’ve been thinking about this dream non-stop, including just now. I’m especially afraid that you’ll leave like in the dream, without even looking back. So, Jiang Ji, it’s not that I don’t want to sing, it’s just that standing here, I really can’t bring myself to sing.”

Jiang Ji didn’t say anything more, just looked at Qin Qingzhuo, and when he spoke again, his voice became very gentle, “Don’t be afraid, I’m not leaving.”

A few seconds later, Qin Qingzhuo’s lowered gaze lifted to meet Jiang Ji’s.

Only then did he realize how gentle Jiang Ji’s gaze was, as if even on the night they were together, it hadn’t been this gentle. That uncomfortable feeling eased a little, and he felt himself relaxing a bit.

“Then don’t sing,” Jiang Ji said, looking at him with a negotiating tone. “But promise me one thing, okay?”

“Okay,” Qin Qingzhuo nodded.

Jiang Ji chuckled lightly, “You’re not even asking what it is?”

“Anything is fine,” Qin Qingzhuo’s gaze and tone were both firm, making him look almost like a sincere child. “As long as I can do it, I will try my best to do it.”

“You can do it,” Jiang Ji said. “It’s a song. You just have to listen to it until the end.”

Only then did Qin Qingzhuo notice the small black remote control Jiang Ji was holding – it seemed that Jiang Ji had brought him here and onto the stage just to make him listen to this song.

“Qin Qingzhuo, remember, I won’t hurt you,” Jiang Ji looked at him seriously, his tone equally serious. “So, when you say something, you must keep your word. You have to listen to it until the end.”

Qin Qingzhuo nodded again, saying, “Okay.”

Jiang Ji’s thumb moved to the play button on the remote control and gently pressed it.

After a few seconds, the guitar prelude rang out from the speakers that had been emitting crackling electric currents on both sides.

Almost instantly recognizable, Qin Qingzhuo heard that it was his own song, “Fall into My Dream”.

A song he had sung hundreds of times, so familiar that it felt like it was ingrained in his bones and blood.

He didn’t know why Jiang Ji wanted to play this song, but since he had promised Jiang Ji, he stood quietly behind the microphone and listened.

However, after dozens of seconds, when he heard his voice coming out of the speakers, Qin Qingzhuo’s expression suddenly changed.

—The sound coming out of the speakers was not the CD version of “Fall into My Dream”, but the version from four years ago, the one he messed up at that concert and had been criticized as a “disaster scene” for so many years.

“Jiang Ji,” he looked up at Jiang Ji, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes, “Don’t play this song.”

“But you just promised me,” Jiang Ji looked at him and said, “You said you would listen to it until the end.”

Qin Qingzhuo felt trapped; he swallowed hard, feeling his Adam’s apple rolling under his thin skin.

Just a minute ago, he did promise Jiang Ji, but he never imagined that Jiang Ji would make him listen to this song.

Since leaving the concert four years ago, he had never had the courage to listen to how badly he had sung that day.

And now that he finally heard it, he was sure that his performance that day was even worse than he had imagined.

His voice sounded hollow, struggling to maintain pitch, timidly entering the beat…

“Don’t play this,” Qin Qingzhuo shook his head, his voice mixed with urgent and evident breaths, blending with the terrible singing in the speakers through the microphone, “Jiang Ji, I don’t want to hear this song.”

“Don’t be afraid, I said I won’t hurt you,” Jiang Ji didn’t do as he said, “I’ll accompany you to listen to it until the end.”

Standing still, everything that happened four years ago played vividly in Qin Qingzhuo’s mind.

One terrible line after another came out of the speakers, yet Qin Qingzhuo knew this wasn’t even his worst performance.

With each line played, they were getting closer to the climax, “Fall into my dream.”

He didn’t want to relive that nightmare-like scene.

He turned and walked towards the stairs, his steps fast, eager to escape from this place.

The farther away, the better, until he couldn’t hear his own voice from the speakers anymore.

“Don’t go, Qin Qingzhuo,” he heard Jiang Ji say in a panic, his voice a little lower, “If you don’t want to disappoint me, then listen to it until the end.”

In his mind, there was a sudden flash of the dream, those thick black eyebrows and eyes, and the disappointment in the eyes of the young man before he turned and left.

Only two or three steps away from the stairs, even though he could quickly escape from here, Qin Qingzhuo’s steps somehow stopped.

He stood there with his head bowed, listening painfully to his own voice, but didn’t take another step forward.

The side speakers were deafening, and the stage beneath his feet seemed to be trembling along with them, even more agonizing than the center position just now.

The flags around were fluttering, and the ringing in his ears began. With each approaching climax, it became louder.

However, he suddenly hoped the ringing in his ears would become louder, so it could cover up the terrible sound of his voice coming from the speakers.

Jiang Ji walked towards him, standing in front of him, looking at him as if saying something, but amidst the sound system and the ringing in his ears, Qin Qingzhuo couldn’t hear anything clearly anymore.

He only heard the interlude starting, and what would happen after the twenty-seven-second interlude, no one knew better than him.

The sudden loss of hearing, the disappointed gazes from the audience, the chaotic beats, and the off-key singing…

His complexion grew paler and paler, his breaths becoming increasingly rapid. He wanted to raise his hand to cover his ears, but one hand was firmly held by Jiang Ji.

He tried to break free from Jiang Ji’s grip, but Jiang Ji suddenly wrapped his arms around him.

“Don’t be afraid, Qin Qingzhuo, don’t be afraid,” Jiang Ji’s voice, close to him, penetrated his eardrums clearly this time, despite being drowned out by the noise, “Trust me.”

“Don’t play this song,” Qin Qingzhuo pleaded softly, “I’m begging you, Jiang Ji, I don’t want to hear this part…”

However, the song continued to play, and Jiang Ji just held him tightly.

In the final two bars, Qin Qingzhuo’s body couldn’t help but tremble.

His breaths became more and more rapid, and he even felt a sense of suffocation.

It was like awaiting the imminent execution, with each passing second of the interlude bringing the gallows closer.

In the last few seconds, he even felt unsteady on his feet, gasping for air frantically, even feeling dizzy in his mind, and the surroundings became blurry, with blobs of colors filling his retinas.

As the interlude reached its final second, the ringing in his ears reached a peak of intensity. He felt powerless, engulfed by immense despair, only able to close his eyes and wait for the judgment to come.

The next second, “Fall into my dream” echoed.

Mixed within the ringing, it made him subconsciously hold his breath.

However, that nightmare scene did not unfold.

The ringing in his ears momentarily softened, and the sound from the speakers entered his ears clearer than ever before.

—Through his eardrums came the harmony between him and Jiang Ji.

His high notes were smooth and transparent, supported steadily by Jiang Ji’s slightly lower voice.

It’s hard to describe the feeling at that moment, an incredible sensation of finding a way out of despair.

It was like closing his eyes and leaping off a cliff, already engulfed in the despair of imminent descent into the abyss, only to suddenly find himself landing on soft clouds.

Jiang Ji’s voice was like those clouds supporting him.

For a moment, stunned, a bit of lost strength returned to him. He slightly moved away from Jiang Ji’s embrace to look at him.

Jiang Ji was also looking at him, deep concern evident in his dark eyes.

“It’s okay,” Jiang Ji reached up to touch his face, “It’s okay…”

He repeated these three words softly, as if comforting Qin Qingzhuo, but also as if reassuring himself.

Hearing Jiang Ji’s voice, Qin Qingzhuo finally snapped out of his daze.

After a long period of panic, consciousness finally began to revive slightly.

The next moment, tears suddenly welled up from his eyes without warning.

Tears of anguish burst forth from his throat, and Qin Qingzhuo cried out uncontrollably.

The sound seemed to come from deep within his chest, even he felt it unfamiliar, yet he couldn’t stop.

It was as if all the emotions that had been pent up in his chest for four years suddenly found an outlet for release in an instant. Tears flowed uncontrollably, raining down like a storm onto Jiang Ji’s hands.

Jiang Ji had seen Qin Qingzhuo’s tears before—Qin Qingzhuo’s tears were always silent and quiet, but this time was different. Qin Qingzhuo cried hysterically, hoarse and desperate, as if all the grievances and sadness had turned into tears and dragged-out sobs, pouring out disregarding everything.

Jiang Ji felt a bit overwhelmed, his heart being torn apart by Qin Qingzhuo’s cries.

Yet, deep down, he felt that as long as Qin Qingzhuo could cry it out, it would be good.

No one understood better than him how liberating it could be to cry out all the emotions that had been pent up in one’s chest.

He reached out to cup Qin Qingzhuo’s face, lowered his head slightly, and kissed those tear-filled eyes and damp lashes.

He tasted Qin Qingzhuo’s tears, salty and slightly bitter.

His hand, wet with tears, reached out, and Jiang Ji pulled Qin Qingzhuo into his arms.

He tightened his arms around him, as if wanting to embed Qin Qingzhuo into his bones, while the other hand was gentle, resting on the back of Qin Qingzhuo’s head, pressing his tear-streaked face against his shoulder.

Then he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and let out a long, trembling breath.