Chapter 37
If it weren’t for the precious violin in his hand, Song Jingmo would have collapsed onto the ground.
“Um… excuse me… we can talk about this… calmly…”
He kept his head down, his eyes darting around the dark ground—lingering on the… ghost’s… long legs—not daring to look up.
The ghost remained silent. Song Jingmo gulped, then cautiously raised his gaze.
The shadows were too deep; he couldn’t see the ghost’s face clearly, but he noticed a small mole on his Adam’s apple, just visible in the dim light.
A red mole!
Song Jingmo: “…Hiss.”
He clutched his violin, taking a sharp breath.
Oh no, they said men turned into wizards at thirty if they didn’t find love. He was only in his twenties, a delicate flower bud, and he’d already encountered such a… captivating… ghost!
“You…”
The ghost, as if finally realizing something, loosened his grip on Song Jingmo’s wrist, his voice soft and faint.
Song Jingmo immediately squatted down, using his violin case as a shield, then… grabbed the ghost’s cold, slender fingers.
The ghost, about to ask something, froze.
Song Jingmo held his hand, his demeanor polite and composed, while his heart did a somersault.
Nice legs, nice mole, nice hands.
Perfect bone structure, smooth skin.
Just a bit cold.
“Hello, hello! Sorry to disturb you. I’m just visiting my mom. Maybe you’re neighbors?”
“My mom is really nice! I’m sure you’ll get along. I play the violin, and I know all sorts of… interesting… things. I’ll be around for a while, visiting often—”
“Oh, right, I’m Song Jingmo. What’s your name?”
The ghost remained silent.
Song Jingmo felt the cold fingers in his hand twitch.
It felt like a kitten’s paw scratching at his heart.
His eyes widened, his mind screaming, but he maintained his polite, slightly aloof demeanor.
The ghost’s hand was icy cold, but gradually, it warmed to his touch.
Song Jingmo paused.
Wait.
That wasn’t right.
Ghosts shouldn’t be so easily warmed by human touch.
He discreetly moved his hand to the ghost’s wrist, his fingers finding his pulse.
His skin was cool, the fabric of his hoodie soft… his pulse strong and steady.
Song Jingmo froze, staring at the ghost.
The ghost sat up straighter, his features emerging from the shadows, his brow furrowed slightly, his expression neutral.
Song Jingmo finally saw his face clearly.
Handsome, with striking features, his furrowed brows giving him an aloof, almost intimidating air, his nose straight, his lips pressed into a thin line.
He met the ghost’s eyes.
Those seemingly cold, deep-set eyes held a flicker of… confusion.
Their gazes locked for a moment, then the ghost, as if uncomfortable, looked away.
His long eyelashes hid the brief flash of… something… in his eyes.
Then he gently pulled his hand away.
Song Jingmo realized that he, the one who had suddenly appeared and grabbed the other person’s hand, was the creepy one.
He quickly straightened his jacket, smiling and extending his hand: “Hello, I’m Song Jingmo. Sorry about that, I thought…”
“It’s dark, and I thought… I saw a ghost, heh heh.”
The man in the hoodie hesitated for a moment, then took his hand.
The mountaintop was dark and cold, the wind biting.
The young man before him smiled, his teeth white and even, his ears slightly pink.
His hand was warm.
“I’m… Xie Zhang.”
“Hello.”
…
One didn’t ask why the other was lying on the mountaintop in the middle of the night, and the other didn’t ask why he was climbing the mountain so late.
They sat together, looking up at the starlit sky, waiting for the sunrise.
As the first rays of light pierced through the darkness, Song Jingmo looked towards the horizon.
As dawn broke here, Vienna was just settling into the quiet of night, preparing for the next day’s performance at the Musikverein.
The mountain was high, the clouds white, the sunlight brilliant.
Song Jingmo opened his violin case, carefully took out his instrument, took a few steps forward, and turned to Xie Zhang, a smile in his eyes.
“Xie Zhang, want to hear a performance?”
“It’ll be my first solo concert.”
Xie Zhang had attended concerts with his mother as a child. Although the memories were distant, he remembered her warm smile, her delicate perfume, and the thunderous applause in the concert hall.
He looked at the young man before him, his figure bathed in the morning light, a golden halo around his face.
He began to clap, softly, rhythmically.
Song Jingmo laughed, genuinely amused by this new friend’s earnest, slightly awkward gesture.
He’d played his violin in many places, for many people, but he’d never given a solo concert.
He lacked the experience, the age, the qualifications… there were always standards to meet.
But now, he was in his golden hall.
And before him sat his only audience.
He placed the violin against his collarbone, his fingers finding the familiar strings.
Golden light danced across the strings, caressing his face.
Reflecting in Xie Zhang’s eyes.
A memory etched in time.
Xie Zhang parked the SUV halfway up the mountain and walked the rest of the way, the chibi shadow perched on his shoulder.
Song Jingmo leaned against his neck, looking back at the path they’d taken.
Seven years ago, he’d climbed this mountain alone, his heart heavy, his mind preoccupied, not daring to look back.
But now, he saw that the path behind him wasn’t a dark abyss, but a winding road dotted with the lights of guesthouses and passing cars.
He was suddenly curious.
He tugged on Xie Zhang’s earlobe.
Xie Zhang turned slightly, murmuring: “Hm?”
【Back then, I really thought you were a… mountain ghost…】
【So handsome, and so cold…】
Xie Zhang pushed aside a branch, a smile touching his lips.
Seven years ago, the cold, weary Xie Zhang had driven all day, arriving at the mountaintop just in time for a lonely sunset.
He’d simply wanted to sit for a while, just a little while longer.
One hour turned into another.
From sunset to nightfall.
Until Song Jingmo, carrying his violin, had appeared.
【What were you about to say back then?】
Remembering the scene, Song Jingmo realized that Xie Zhang had been about to say something, then stopped.
They reached the summit.
Xie Zhang glanced at his watch; it was 5:40 pm, almost sunset.
The chibi shadow, having received no answer, poked his neck.
Standing where Song Jingmo had played his violin, Xie Zhang looked at the clouds, at the sea, and said softly:
“I thought I was seeing a beautiful hallucination.”
So he’d reached out.
Wanting to grasp it, to hold onto it.
And the warm hallucination had taken his hand, its touch so firm, so warm, it had almost melted him in the darkness.
His illness hadn’t started with Song Jingmo; it had been with him for a long time, a tightening noose around his soul.
He’d resisted therapy, his episodes unpredictable. He didn’t even remember why he’d driven here.
He’d just felt a sense of urgency, a relentless pressure that wouldn’t let him stop, couldn’t let him stop.
Anxiety burned within him, and he craved peace, coolness, anything to extinguish the flames, to soothe his soul.
He’d almost thought he’d be trapped on that cold, dark mountaintop forever.
But then, after the chilling darkness, he’d been embraced by the warmth of the sun.
Xie Zhang held out his hand, and the chibi shadow, dressed in a miniature tuxedo, sat down.
Song Jingmo, unaware of the deeper meaning, heard the longing and affection in Xie Zhang’s voice.
They hadn’t brought his violin, and he didn’t know that Xie Zhang could hear him now, assuming he couldn’t hear his shadow violin.
He looked around, then, an idea striking him, he plucked a perfectly shaped leaf from a branch and offered it to Song-shadow.
Song-shadow, experimenting, blew on the leaf, adjusting his embouchure.
Xie Zhang watched him intently.
Anxiety was a fire, but Song Jingmo was the sun.
Not a cold, empty peace, but a warmth that radiated from his heart.
His hope, his future.
His everything.
The sunset’s glow, unlike the brilliant gold of sunrise, was softer, more serene and romantic.
The mountains blurred in the fading light, the world transformed into a dreamscape of colors and shadows.
The chibi shadow blew on the leaf, the sound echoing through the mountains.
The melody flowed, slow and loving, then quick and yearning, rising and falling, intertwining with the wind, kissing Xie Zhang’s hair and face.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the melody softened, becoming gentle and tender, the world around them falling silent.
Xie Zhang bent down, wanting to kiss his lover.
Song-shadow, sensing his movement, stopped playing, looking up.
A soft kiss landed on his forehead.
Warmth surged through Song Jingmo’s soul, his heart pounding, a tangible, almost physical sensation.
He reached up, cupping Xie Zhang’s face, giggling softly—
“My darling… hee hee… hee hee!”
Hearing his voice, so clear and close, Xie Zhang froze.
Unlike before, when it had seemed distant and muffled, this voice was… real, as if whispered in his ear.
Song-shadow, oblivious, kissed Xie Zhang’s cheek again, the sunset’s colors inspiring… certain thoughts.
“Tonight, outdoors, sleeping in the SUV!”
“Hee… hee hee… hee hee hee…”
Xie Zhang looked at the featureless shadow, its tiny hands caressing his face.
He slowly raised an eyebrow.
