Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The day of the performance also marked Fu Han’s usual departure. Ji Qingyu woke early, and sure enough, Fu Han hadn't returned. This cold war's end remained unknown.

The room felt somewhat desolate. He lay in bed for a while to collect himself before rising to wash up.

The living room was spacious and bright. Aunt Wang had prepared sweet red bean and glutinous rice balls and millet porridge, simmered all night. Knowing Ji Qingyu had a performance, she’d specially made something easy to digest and energizing.

"Eat more," Aunt Wang urged, looking at Ji Qingyu. Compared to his arrival, he had gained weight and was no longer skeletal, though the bones of his wrists remained distinctly visible.

From Aunt Wang’s older generation perspective, Ji Qingyu was simply too frail, a cause for concern.

Once, she’d stumbled upon Ji Qingyu and Fu Han arguing. She’d stayed late that day, and the bedroom door hadn't been properly shut. Fu Han, with his broad shoulders, had pinned Ji Qingyu against the wall. Unable to escape, Ji Qingyu’s chin was lifted by Fu Han’s single hand.

Fu Han calmly stated, "Where do you think you’re going? Planning to stab me in the back like you did in high school, then feign innocence and purity?"

"Ji Qingyu, you always appear obedient, but in your heart, you calculate things more shrewdly than anyone."

Ji Qingyu offered no rebuttal, nor did Fu Han’s words seem to provoke him. His back pressed against the wall, head bowed, his light chestnut hair falling naturally, somewhat disheveled over his shoulders and neck, making him appear docile. His skin was pale, lacking color, and his gaze was slightly downcast.

His hands were clasped behind his back, lips slightly pursed, eyes unfocused as if lost in thought, carrying a sense of detachment from his surroundings, like a drifting plankton.

Aunt Wang felt there must be some misunderstanding between them. Someone like Ji Qingyu, whom even stray animals would approach and like—only Fu Han harbored such peculiar animosity toward him.

Before she could make a sound to interrupt them, the tense atmosphere abruptly shifted. Ji Qingyu stood on tiptoes and kissed Fu Han’s chin. His slippers made a soft, quick, and light pattering sound on the floor.

He still wore the expression of someone sincerely admitting their mistake.

Fu Han was momentarily stunned.

Aunt Wang dared not watch any longer. The lamplight flickered, and she suddenly understood—Ji Qingyu wasn’t as fragile as he seemed. He knew how to handle Fu Han and was well aware of Fu Han’s vulnerabilities.

Ji Qingyu slowly finished his bowl of porridge, stood up, bid Aunt Wang farewell, gathered his belongings, and left early.

By the time he arrived at the performance hall, the sky was just beginning to lighten. It was then that he started to feel nervous. Bringing such an unprecedented endeavor to the stage—frankly, he wasn't very confident.

He slowly recalled that the unique inspiration for this fairy tale theme stemmed from his high school days, reading in the school library. Perhaps to deter students from reading too many non-academic books, the shelves were packed with dense study guides and complete bilingual editions of Grimm’s Fairy Tales.

Consequently, Ji Qingyu had devoured almost every fairy tale he could find in a very short time.

Back then, Fu Han had just claimed the library as his territory. He would lean quietly by the windowsill to nap, while Ji Qingyu silently flipped through books nearby.

Initially, they didn't disturb each other, but Fu Han would occasionally lean in drowsily to glance at the pages. In such moments, Fu Han was usually half-asleep. When turning pages, his pinky would lightly brush against Ji Qingyu’s wrist, and a faint scent of green plum would drift from Fu Han, making Ji Qingyu’s mind reel.

"What’s so interesting about fairy tales?" Fu Han didn’t understand, his voice lazy and low.

"Then don’t read it. Give it back to me," Ji Qingyu frowned slightly.

"Your taste is always terrible," Fu Han stretched, casually picking up an anthology from the pile on the table and placing it over his face to block the sun. He then nudged Ji Qingyu’s leg with his knee, with measured pressure, and said slowly, "I’m sleepy. Read one to me."

"...Is there one you want to hear?" Ji Qingyu exhaled softly, flipping a few pages. Fu Han didn’t respond, seemingly already asleep. Ji Qingyu gently took the book back and pulled the white curtains shut.

It was already such a distant memory.

Ji Qingyu snapped back to reality, rubbing his temples and pushing the old memories aside.

People were already entering the performance hall. He secretly lifted the backstage curtain and peeked out. The center seat in the front row was still empty, standing out conspicuously amid the crowd. Ji Qingyu watched for a few seconds before letting the curtain fall.

Backstage was bustling with activity, everyone caught up in the organized chaos, filled with the nervous excitement of being about to go on stage.

Lin Feng had a half-finished bottle of cheap whiskey beside him, sitting on a low stool in front of the dressing table, rehearsing his lines.

Nannan was already dressed in her costume—a bubble-sleeved dress that Ji Qingyu had sewn by hand, from materials he bought.

The other children were each doing their own thing—some memorizing scores, others practicing in solitude.

For Ji Qingyu, this modest stage and the audience that might just be there for the show represented the beginning of something he had been preparing for years.

His palms were clammy with sweat, a mix of excitement, joy, and fear.

The thought of that untimely person surfaced in his mind again.

He wondered how Fu Han was doing, what he was up to. Was he reading the letter Luo Sheng left behind? Or was he still working? If he didn’t come today, would he come tomorrow? Ji Qingyu wasn’t exactly hoping for it, but he wished Fu Han would keep his promise, so his heart wouldn’t be left hanging.

Surprisingly, more people had shown up than expected—a packed crowd, nearly a hundred. He went over every detail in his mind once more. They had rehearsed the run-through repeatedly and were well-prepared. Gradually, Ji Qingyu relaxed.

"The positions and dance moves have been practiced over and over. No need to worry," Ji Qingyu said, checking the time as music began to play on stage. "Photography isn’t allowed during this performance, so even if we bomb, no one has to worry about leaving behind any bad record."

Lin Feng tossed the whiskey bottle into Ji Qingyu’s arms. "If you’re nervous, take a sip."

Ji Qingyu gripped the bottle, hesitated for a moment, then leaned against the table and took a big swig. The harsh liquor warmed his body. He choked and coughed violently, his eyes watering, cheeks flushing. The alcohol made him feel a bit woozy.

The audience grew lively. Light and shadow overlapped on the stage, as if under a spotlight. The first act was about to begin.

"Did you hear? It’s supposedly directed by Ji Ran’s brother. Not sure if it’s true."

"It’s just something put together by a bunch of kids. I’m only here for the drama."

"..."

"I’m curious to see how rock and fairy tales can mix. Besides, if Ji Ran’s songs were really written by this guy, then the ticket was worth it."

"He’s already married into money. Why is he still chasing ideals?"

"Alright, alright, it’s starting!"

The lights dimmed, and Nannan walked onto the stage, bowing before sitting at the piano and striking the first key.

The bass reverberated, the booming speakers stirring the entire venue. Ji Qingyu, wearing a rabbit-ear mask, strummed his guitar.

"Is that Ji Ran’s brother? I heard he’s not in good health. How can he play the bass with so much energy?" someone in the audience whispered in surprise, their eyes fixed on Ji Qingyu. The drumbeats intensified, heating up the atmosphere.

"He can play the guitar too?!"

Ji Qingyu just wanted to do what he loved. If his songs could be heard, he was content. On stage, he forgot everything—there was only him and his instrument. In those moments, he always felt calm.

The audience gradually fell silent, holding their breath. Someone murmured, "Why can’t we take photos? I really want to record this."

"Switching from hater to casual fan..."

"Switching from hater to fan."

"Wow, he took off his mask. He’s so gorgeous."

Ji Qingyu silently went through the run-through in his mind. Everything was going relatively smoothly. There were a few more songs to go. If he could maintain this state, he would be able to complete the performance well.

Plastic props and cardboard sets shimmered under the lights. Lin Feng made his entrance, wearing a form-fitting costume, his face mostly hidden by a hat. He let out a whistle.

"This guy is so professional! Where did they hire such a pricey actor?"

Lin Feng possessed a unique talent, effortlessly commanding the stage's attention.

Ji Qingyu's face grew increasingly flushed. Finally mustering a bit of confidence, he dared to glance toward the audience, only to find that someone now sat in the previously empty seat. The person sat with arms crossed, their gaze indifferent and detached, as if completely unconcerned.

It was Fu Han. Even from the corner of his eye, Ji Qingyu recognized him instantly.

His fingers trembled, causing a missed note. His heart clenched as if squeezed by an invisible hand. He hunched his shoulders slightly, and his back began to sweat.

Halfway through the performance, Lin Feng suddenly froze. He stood rigidly onstage, his gaze locked on the audience. Lin Feng’s stare was like a searing brand. The audience looked on in confusion, but only Fu Han shot to his feet.

In the darkness, Fu Han’s expression was unreadable. Under the dim stage lights, a faint beam reflected off his face. Fu Han’s hands were clenched into tight fists.

Lin Feng seemed frozen in place, unmoving no matter how Ji Qingyu tried to signal him. Then, he quickly leaped off the stage and headed for the stage exit. Onstage, Nannan called out loudly, trying to stop him, while Ji Qingyu was caught completely off guard by the sudden turn of events.

The audience gasped in shock. Ji Qingyu’s playing fell out of tune. Everything was like a row of dominoes—once the first tile fell, there was no turning back.

Ji Qingyu remained bewildered. Lin Feng had nearly reached the exit when Fu Han strode over and grabbed him firmly.

Fu Han’s eyes held a dangerous intensity unlike anything before, as if he were barely containing his rage. After a moment, he broke into a laugh. Ji Qingyu stopped playing. The place descended into chaos, yet all he could see was Fu Han’s hand—the one resting at his side, trembling uncontrollably.

Lin Feng’s face was deathly pale. His wide-brimmed cowboy hat was ripped off by Fu Han, revealing his entire face. His hair was disheveled, sticking to his temples, and his eyes were bloodshot, as if burning with fire.

From the stage, the distance was too great for Ji Qingyu to hear what Fu Han was saying. Squinting at his lips, he made out just two words. Yet both Lin Feng and Ji Qingyu froze on the spot. A bone-chilling cold engulfed Ji Qingyu. The tangled knot in his heart that he could never unravel suddenly came loose and precarious. What Fu Han said was:

"Mom."

How could that be...

Ji Qingyu rose to his feet as well. His legs could barely support him, and he braced himself against the nearby instrument stand to keep from collapsing on the spot.