Chapter 11
Being able to touch Xie Zhang filled Song Jingmo with an almost giddy excitement.
The smashed computer monitor in the study had been replaced with a new one after Xu Yi’s visit.
Seeing it upon entering the study, Song Jingmo assumed Xu Yi had just replaced it and didn’t think much of it. He settled beside the keyboard, his shadow cat form seemingly demure, but a closer look revealed the outline of a hammer clutched in its paws.
If he saw any more internet self-diagnoses, the shadow meteor hammer would return, mark his words!
Xie Zhang, sensing the subtle threat: “…”
He dragged the browser icon to the recycle bin.
Song-shadow peeked, satisfied, and rubbed his cat head against Xie Zhang’s wrist.
Xie Zhang’s lips tightened at the cool touch.
After a moment’s hesitation, he spoke: “I… I think I heard the violin last night.”
“Was that you?”
Mentioning anything else wouldn’t faze Song Jingmo, but talking about the violin made his shadow tail practically reach the ceiling.
Song-shadow nodded, extending a paw, his tail held ramrod straight.
As if by some miracle, Xie Zhang suddenly understood and held out his left hand, palm up, beneath the hovering shadow paw.
Song Jingmo gave him a “not bad” look, his paw blooming into a dark mangosteen flower in Xie Zhang’s palm.
Xie Zhang froze, holding the shadow paw.
What… what was he supposed to do now?
Song-shadow sighed. A shadow tendril extended from behind Xie Zhang, gently encircling his neck and pulling his head down.
Song Jingmo giggled.
He’d been wanting to do this for a while. Every time he saw Xie Zhang in a suit and tie, he’d imagined tugging on the tie.
But his previous reserved persona had held him back. It had only been a fantasy.
Now, his dream was realized. Hee hee hee.
Xie Zhang, feeling both threatened and teased by his shadow: “…”
Was this really just a hallucination?
It felt… strange.
But to confirm his suspicions, he lowered his head and kissed the inky black shadow paw.
Song Jingmo: “XD”
Oh my, how embarrassing.
Song-shadow, pleased, withdrew his paw, bashfully pouncing on the violin case, opening it with a click, and retrieving his beloved instrument.
Xie Zhang glanced at the security camera pointed towards the violin.
He had deliberately placed the case there, within the camera’s view.
The shadow cat, unable to play the violin, vanished, replaced by inky black tendrils.
This was the first time Xie Zhang had witnessed his shadow playing the violin. The bizarre sight made the staunch atheist’s eye twitch.
But the shadow’s skillful playing, the occasional flourish, and the extra effort to form a shadow rose and offer it to him, began to shake his atheism and his self-diagnosis.
Xie Zhang cupped the shadow rose in his hand, his eyes dark and unreadable.
The strings vibrated, the violin’s melody filling the room.
Xie Zhang wasn’t a music connoisseur, but he’d heard Song Jingmo play countless times.
No one knew Song Jingmo’s playing style better than he did.
Even on the same violin, different people playing the same piece would sound different.
But the music filling the study now was the same warm, powerful melody he remembered, with an added ethereal quality.
This was the Song Jingmo he knew, the only Song Jingmo who could play like this.
Even with severe schizophrenia, even if he could hallucinate his lover’s presence, he couldn’t possibly replicate his playing to this degree.
Xie Zhang stared at the shadow, lost in the music, his fingers clenching, his nails digging into his palms.
Song Jingmo, immersed in his playing, was suddenly overwhelmed by waves of intense heat, his shadow wavering, threatening to melt away.
He quickly placed the violin back in its case and turned to Xie Zhang, annoyed.
What?
He was just playing the violin; it wasn’t like he was trying to devour his shadow!
But then he remembered his theory. He returned to Xie Zhang’s side, touching his cheek with a shadow tendril.
He stared into Xie Zhang’s eyes, trying to see past the usual restraint, to see the burning longing within.
The shadow’s touch was cool, yet gentle and loving.
A shadow tendril tapped the keyboard, typing a simple sentence in a blank document.
【Are you thinking about me?】
Xie Zhang’s composure crumbled. He squeezed his eyes shut, tears welling up, his hands clenching into fists.
The intense heat surged through Song Jingmo, giving him a newfound strength. He tried to form a more substantial shape.
Even for a moment, he wanted to hold Xie Zhang.
But halfway through, he stalled, as if blocked, unable to form even half of his body.
He thought for a moment, then had an idea—if a large-scale transformation was impossible, perhaps a smaller one would work?
Just an outline, a miniature version of himself, shouldn’t require too much energy, right?
Acting on impulse, he focused all his energy on shaping himself, ignoring the emotionally charged Xie Zhang beside him.
When the fist-sized, chibi Song-shadow finally appeared beside the keyboard, he looked up and saw Xie Zhang clicking on a window.
Security… camera footage?
Huh?
When did they install security cameras?
From his low vantage point, the chibi shadow had to crane his neck to see the screen, the image distorted.
He tugged on Xie Zhang’s sleeve.
Xie Zhang glanced at the chibi shadow, then quickly averted his gaze, as if afraid to look too closely.
But his eyes lingered on the metal paperweight on the desk, greedily tracing the tiny shadow reflected on its surface.
He could even make out the outline of the concert attire Song Jingmo favored, the one he felt most confident in.
Seeing that Xie Zhang didn’t understand, the tiny shadow hopped onto the keyboard and typed: 【I’m too small. Can you put me on your shoulder?】
Halfway through, he found it too tiring and reverted to his shadow tendrils, typing much faster.
Xie Zhang’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
The tiny, featureless figure on the keyboard stood patiently, arms outstretched in a request for a hug.
Xie Zhang scooped up the shadow figure and placed it gently on his shoulder.
Song Jingmo settled on Xie Zhang’s shoulder, the tails of his miniature tailcoat fluttering.
The elegant garment, now miniaturized, looked incredibly cute.
He paced back and forth on Xie Zhang’s shoulder, marveling at its breadth and sturdiness.
Satisfied, he sat down, crossing his legs, and looked at the computer screen.
It still displayed the security footage, showing the study.
More specifically, it showed an inky black shadow passionately playing the violin in the study.
Song Jingmo looked at the timestamp in the top left corner, confirming it was today’s date, just a short while ago.
After a moment of stunned silence, he understood.
He didn’t know when Xie Zhang had installed the cameras, or when he’d finally figured things out, but Song Jingmo happily swung his legs.
With both video and shadow evidence, surely Xie Zhang’s “illness” would be cured now?
He poked Xie Zhang’s neck, tugging playfully at his earlobe and hair.
Xie Zhang subtly adjusted the angles of the pen holder and other objects on the desk, allowing him to see the tiny shadow figure on his shoulder from different perspectives.
But his face remained calm, betraying no emotion. He opened his messaging app and sent the video to Xu Yi.
Xu Yi quickly downloaded the short video and replied just as fast.
【Boss, I know you miss Song Shao a lot, but… isn’t this a bit… unusual?】
Xie Zhang calmly replied: 【What do you see?】
Xu Yi: 【What else could I see? A… shadow playing the violin? But your editing skills are impressive. The video and audio are seamlessly integrated, very professional.】
Xu Yi could see the shadow in the video.
Xie Zhang’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, the last of his doubts dispelled.
Even if he was ill, Xu Yi couldn’t possibly see the same hallucination.
And he couldn’t have created such a realistic video in such a short time.
So, his shadow was alive.
Or rather, someone had returned, residing within his shadow.
【Boss?】
【Mr. Xie? Senpai?】
【If all else fails, how about I schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist for you? I’ve been researching this…】
Xie Zhang ignored Xu Yi’s messages, closing the chat window without hesitation.
He lowered his gaze, suppressing the turmoil within, his fingers trembling slightly on the mouse.
Song Jingmo also saw Xie Zhang’s actions, understanding that he was confirming whether the video was a hallucination.
The tiny Song-shadow kicked Xie Zhang’s collarbone, muttering: “So much trouble! Honestly, you overthink everything.”
Although the process had been convoluted, Xie Zhang had finally understood.
Song Jingmo, caught up in his excitement, didn’t notice anything unusual about Xie Zhang.
He eagerly typed on the keyboard, ready to discuss their next steps.
But before he could finish typing, Xie Zhang let out a low, almost hysterical chuckle.
Song-shadow leaned back, sensing something was wrong.
Then, he watched in disbelief as Xie Zhang opened Photoshop and expertly created an image of a standing shadow figure.
The quickly drawn figure looked incredibly realistic, even sporting a cat head peeking out from the side.
“Momo… I can finally see you.”
“You’ve come back.”
“As expected, as long as I remain ill, I can see you again.”
A dazed yet satisfied smile spread across Xie Zhang’s face. He opened a new document, looking at the screen, his lips curving upwards.
“Talk to me, okay?”
The shadow tendril on the keyboard, startled, typed a string of letters.
【aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa】
Song Jingmo: “?”
He could even spin this into a symptom of his “illness”?
Seriously, Xie Zhang, were you actually insane?!
