Chapter 51

The car stopped in front of Qin Qingzhuo’s villa, and Jiang Ji pressed the brake. “We’re here.”

“Hmm…” Qin Qingzhuo opened his eyes, raised his hand to pinch his brow, undid his seatbelt, and got out of the car. Jiang Ji also got out from the other side.

“How should I contact you tomorrow?” Jiang Ji walked over. “Should I come to your house or go directly to your studio?”

“My studio is quite remote, you might not be able to find it,” Qin Qingzhuo thought for a moment. “I’ll come pick you up, or I’ll arrange for someone to pick you up.”

“What time?”

“Around two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Okay, then…” Jiang Ji lowered his voice a bit, sounding a bit gentle. “See you tomorrow.”

Qin Qingzhuo nodded.

After saying this, Jiang Ji didn’t leave immediately. His gaze lingered on Qin Qingzhuo’s face for a moment before he turned around and walked away. “I’m going.”

The nearby streetlight cast a slanted shadow, making his silhouette stretch quite long, so long that even after he walked a few meters away, his shadow hadn’t left yet.

So, in those few seconds as the shadow gradually receded, Qin Qingzhuo’s thoughts turned several times, feeling that it would be better to clarify things sooner rather than later.

He never liked to be ambiguous in relationships. Feeling indebted to someone’s emotions without being able to reciprocate equally was a burden to him, and he believed that clarifying things early would be a relief for both parties.

Qin Qingzhuo called out, “Jiang Ji.”

Jiang Ji paused and turned to look back.

The young man was tall and sharp in stature, yet under the lamplight, his features seemed soft, devoid of the previous aura of hostility.

The words circled on Qin Qingzhuo’s tongue but were swallowed back down: “…It’s late, why don’t you take my car back?”

“No need,” Jiang Ji said, “I’ll take a taxi.”

After a pause, he added, “It’s windy outside, you should go back quickly.” With that, he turned and walked away.

This time, Qin Qingzhuo didn’t call him back. He sighed and stood still.

He had encountered many situations like this in his life. Refusing someone was like second nature to him; he didn’t need a script to articulate his words, whether they were straightforward, tactful, or nonchalant. He knew better than anyone what to say to whom.

But with Jiang Ji, he found himself at a loss.

For some reason, the words he had planned to say just now had failed to leave his mouth.

Forget it, Qin Qingzhuo thought as he turned and ascended the steps. He decided to think about how to approach this tomorrow when he was sober. After all, his head was still spinning, his mind not entirely clear. It would be troublesome if he said the wrong thing in haste. Jiang Ji seemed indifferent on the surface, but he was actually quite thoughtful.

On the way back, Jiang Ji bought a can of soda from a vending machine on the roadside.

It was lemon-mint flavored, a bit too sweet for Jiang Ji’s taste. Compared to this, he preferred pure mint water.

The last time he bought soda from a vending machine was when he was bringing Qin Qingzhuo back. As for why he brought Qin Qingzhuo back that time, Jiang Ji couldn’t explain it himself. He had always been averse to physical contact with others. The physical contact that came from riding a motorcycle together felt too intimate, so aside from the child Jiang Bei, he had never taken anyone else on his motorcycle.

But in the past two months, there were many things about Qin Qingzhuo that Jiang Ji couldn’t explain.

For example, he couldn’t explain why he liked Qin Qingzhuo.

Two months ago, if someone had told him that he would like a guy, Jiang Ji would probably have lost interest in even punching them; he would have thought they were talking nonsense. Regardless of whether it was a man or a woman, he had never considered liking someone.

The premise of liking someone was understanding them, and he had never been interested in understanding others’ lives. When he was in school, he received a few love letters. He still remembered the first one, which said, “Jiang Ji, I really like you and want to get to know you better.” When he read that line, he didn’t bother reading the rest. He resisted letting others understand his life, and he had no desire to understand others’ lives. So, after that, he never bothered opening any of the love letters he received.

The same was true after he came to Yancheng, especially since he started performing at the bar. He had received several confessions, both direct and indirect, from men and women alike. He dismissed them all with a cold “not interested.”

But with Qin Qingzhuo… for some reason, he felt a strong desire to understand him.

How did Qin Qingzhuo become the person he is now?

Is he like this with everyone?

What is he like when he hangs out with friends?

And how is he like with a lover?

What was he like when he was nineteen?

How did he spend each day to become the person he is now?

It’s strange; he seems to want to know every detail about how Qin Qingzhuo became the person he is today.

When Jiang Bei had fallen asleep by the time he returned to the bar’s second floor, Jiang Ji took a shower and went back to his room. Leaning against the bedside, he typed the three words “Qin Qingzhuo” into the search bar of a video streaming site and then added “DJ” for a more specific search.

The search results displayed a series of videos in descending order of views. The first one was titled “Qin Qingzhuo 2012 Runcheng Music Festival Live Restoration,” with over ten million views.

Runcheng? Jiang Ji was momentarily surprised. He had grown up in Runcheng but had never paid attention to music festivals over the years, and he never thought that Qin Qingzhuo had been to Runcheng ten years ago.

He clicked on that video. In the footage, Qin Qingzhuo was wearing a white shirt, with a head of ash-blue hair. He had a small black earring on his left earlobe and three small black rings on his right ear cartilage. He looked a bit youthful.

The music festival wasn’t particularly large in scale, and there weren’t too many spectators in the audience. Before singing, Qin Qingzhuo chatted with the audience while holding a guitar, saying he had skipped class to come here, might fail his exams when he went back, and complained that studying cello was too dull. He had been tormented by the history of classical music these days.

At that time, Qin Qingzhuo liked to smile a lot. He laughed while chatting, laughed when he couldn’t hear what the audience was saying, and even laughed before cracking a joke.

But when he started singing, it was different. As soon as the guitar sounded, the audience fell silent. Qin Qingzhuo could immediately immerse people in the atmosphere he created with his voice. His voice was very unique, gentle yet penetrating. He could easily convey the delicate emotions of the song, making listening to him sing a captivating experience.

In this performance, Qin Qingzhuo sang an English slow ballad related to rain. Before he started singing, the audience was bathed in warm yellow and cold blue lights. Despite the absence of any rain sounds in the live setting, his voice somehow conveyed a kind of drizzling dampness. His voice, like a misty night, seemed to penetrate through the fog directly to the listener’s eardrums.

The slightly lazy pronunciation reminded Jiang Ji of tonight when Qin Qingzhuo hummed the lines “like dying in the sun.” It was gentle, catchy, and stunning.

Although the filming date of this video was ten years ago, there were still recent comments in the comment section:

“Finally, I can see you again with the airing of ‘Restless Band.’ It’s a pity you didn’t sing, though.”

“I met you for the first time at this music festival. I was in the front row, there for another band. At that time, I didn’t know you, but I thought, who is this guy, good-looking but dressed like a non-mainstream person. However, after listening to the first song, I forgot about the band I was following at that time. Since then, whenever I have time, I go to your performances. Over these years, watching you rise and fall, I never thought that hearing you live again would become a ‘once in a lifetime’ event. Sigh…”

“No new songs, but singing some old ones would be nice. Although the previous albums have been played to death.”

“I always felt you looked so happy back then. Now, even though you joke around on the show, you don’t seem happy at all. Well, I’m not asking you to sing again. I just hope you can be as happy as before.”

“I remember you said at a concert before that when you get older, you’ll hold concerts for fans for free. Why did you suddenly go back on your word and stop singing?”

“So many years have passed, and I haven’t met anyone as amazing as you.”

“Clearly, still working on other people’s albums, why aren’t you singing for yourself anymore? I don’t want to stir up trouble, but let me say this quietly here: their singing doesn’t compare to yours.”

…

This comment section is like a private gathering place for Qin Qingzhuo fans, with over ten thousand comments, each expressing longing for Qin Qingzhuo. Among them, a rather rude comment stands out:

“I don’t understand what Qin Qingzhuo’s fans are doing here, lamenting about spring and grieving about autumn. With such a good voice and talent, how did he end up in a car accident? It’s all his own fault. How many times did the media capture photos of him smoking before that concert? Did he ever listen to the fans’ advice to take care of his voice? What does it mean to reap what you sow? Qin Qingzhuo is the best example. Fans, spare yourselves. Qin Qingzhuo doesn’t care about what you’re lamenting about here.”

The memory of Qin Qingzhuo’s frowning brow as he said, “Jiang Ji, stop smoking,” echoed in Jiang Ji’s mind. Was it because his voice was ruined by smoking that he hoped Jiang Ji wouldn’t follow in his footsteps? But those few lines he hummed tonight sounded so good…

Jiang Ji switched to his chat with Zhong Yang and scrolled up to the video of Qin Qingzhuo at the “car accident scene” that Zhong Yang had sent him before. His finger paused, but he didn’t open the video.

At the time, he didn’t open it out of disinterest in watching someone in distress. Now, he refrained because he felt a pang of guilt. Jiang Ji recalled the moment when Qin Qingzhuo’s eyelashes fluttered and he closed his eyes briefly when Jiang Ji confronted him during the second match. In that moment, Qin Qingzhuo even looked a bit pitiful.

No one wants their moments of distress to be watched by others, and with Qin Qingzhuo’s personality, he would especially dislike it.

Maybe… it’s better not to watch.

Jiang Ji let out a soft sigh, turned off the screen, and set his phone aside.

The next afternoon, before two o’clock, Jiang Ji received a call from Zhong Yang. He came downstairs from the second floor and raised the bar’s rolling shutter.

“Is Brother Qingzhuo really going to sign us?” Zhong Yang pushed the door open and walked in. “Does this count as openly snatching people from Shi Yao? We’re really something, aren’t we, to be in such high demand…”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Peng Keshi poured cold water on him, then asked Jiang Ji, “What did Brother Qingzhuo say?”

“He didn’t say he’d definitely sign us,” Jiang Ji leaned against the bar counter. “He asked us to go to his studio first. What do you guys think?”

“Aren’t you getting ready to apply for graduate school recently?” Zhong Yang looked at Peng Keshi. “Won’t you stop playing in the band after that?”

“Not necessarily,” Peng Keshi said. “Whether or not to sign with a company, and which one, doesn’t matter much to me. As long as there’s more freedom, I’m fine with it. But if we can sign with Brother Qingzhuo, I have no objections.”

“I choose Brother Qingzhuo too,” Zhong Yang chimed in. “Who wants to sign a contract with Shi Yao?…”

As they were talking, someone pushed open the door and peeked in—it was Qin Qingzhuo’s driver.

“You’re all here? Mr. Qin asked me to pick you up. Let’s go, get in the car.”

“Are we going to Brother Qingzhuo’s studio?” Zhong Yang exclaimed excitedly, jumping off the high stool. “Let’s go, let’s go!”

Exiting the bar, Jiang Ji closed the rolling shutter and locked it, then walked towards the car parked at the bottom of the steps.

Before getting into the car, he paused and glanced towards the depths of the alley.

Peng Keshi noticed his alertness. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jiang Ji averted his gaze. “Where are you sitting?”

“I’ll sit in the back with Zhong Yang,” Peng Keshi said.

“Okay.” Jiang Ji opened the car door and sat in the passenger seat, then glanced in that direction again.

Having been followed overtly and covertly for so many years, he was very sensitive to prying eyes.

It didn’t seem like the style of Ma San and the others, but rather closer to the feeling of being followed by Jiang Keyuan… But Jiang Keyuan was already dead, so who was following him this time?

The car started, and Zhong Yang in the back interrupted his thoughts. “By the way, I noticed that those bands all have their own Weibo accounts. Before we came here, I also created one for our band. We can post about band rehearsals and daily life in the future. You guys should follow it.”

He eagerly took out his phone. “Let’s also unify our Weibo names, with a prefix followed by our own names. How about that?”

“That works,” Peng Keshi said.

“Then hurry up,” seeing Jiang Ji’s lack of response, Zhong Yang urged, “Jiang Ji, you too.”

“I don’t have Weibo,” Jiang Ji replied without turning around.

“Are you a time traveler who came to our modern society without even having Weibo?” Zhong Yang joked, “Give me your phone, I’ll help you create one.”

Jiang Ji took out his phone from his pocket and tossed it to the back seat.

After some operations, Zhong Yang returned the phone to him. “All set.”

Jiang Ji took a look. The Weibo handle was “RoughFaceCloud-JiangJi,” which gave a sense of belonging, but he never liked sharing his life. He probably wouldn’t post anything on it in the future.

About to turn off the screen and put away the phone, Jiang Ji’s hand hesitated for a moment, then typed “Qin Qingzhuo” into the search bar.

The top search result was Qin Qingzhuo, so he clicked on it.

The latest Weibo post was from four years ago—”Waiting for the moment of light.” The attached photo was a black and white picture of an empty concert seat, with hundreds of thousands of comments below.

At this moment, the car slowed to a stop, and the driver reminded them, “We’ve arrived.” Jiang Ji clicked the follow button below Qin Qingzhuo’s profile picture and put away his phone.

Exiting the car, Jiang Ji looked up. When he saw the logo embedded on the tall building, he paused for a moment, then furrowed his brows—

Huan Yang Music? The former employer Qin Qingzhuo mentioned last night?