Chapter 37 Preparing the New Album

Chapter 37: Preparing the New Album

Zhou Yan stood up, walked over to Lin Xishan, and extended his hand.

Lin Xishan also stood up and shook it.

Zhou Yan's palm was rough, covered in calluses from years of playing bass, and his grip was surprisingly strong.

"Xiao Lin," Zhou Yan said, his voice a little hoarse. "Thank you. Really, thank you. I don't know how to put into words how grateful I am, but—"

This burly, fearless six-footer who wouldn't flinch at anything had tears welling up in his eyes.

"Don't thank me—I'm not the one putting up the money." Lin Xishan smiled. "Besides, this is an investment, not charity. Do well, and the investor's still waiting on his dividends."

Zhou Yan let go of his hand and sat back down, suddenly remembering that day at Guo'an Tower when Lin Xishan had said, "I'll handle this," and the look on his face.

He'd thought then that this guy wasn't simple. Now he was sure Lin Xishan was something else entirely.

"Xiao Lin," Zhou Yan weighed his words, "who exactly are you?"

Lin Xishan thought for a moment. Since they'd be working together long-term, his identity would come out eventually anyway. Besides, these were Pei Zhi's closest brothers, and he trusted their character. So he came clean: "The Lin Group is my family's company."

The rehearsal room fell so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

The cigarette dropped from Jiang Muye's mouth. Gu Zhou's drumstick flew out of his hand, bounced off the wall twice, and rolled into the corner. Zhou Yan's mouth opened and closed, opened and closed again, before he finally managed: "Holy shit."

"I really was a broke student before," Lin Xishan explained. "My family cut off my card to make me learn the ropes. Later, due to some stuff, I cut a deal with my family, which is how I handled the Liu Guoliang situation. I didn't mean to keep it from you. As for the investment, it's from my younger brother—not entirely for my sake, actually. He's actually a fan of you guys."

Jiang Muye picked up his cigarette from the floor, blew off the ash, and put it back between his lips, his voice a bit shaky: "So when you said you were poorer than Pei Zhi, you meant your poor was the 'slumming it' kind, and ours is the real thing?"

Lin Xishan owned it without hesitation: "Pretty much."

Jiang Muye leaned against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "I never in my life thought my band's investor would be the young master of the Lin Group. Fuck, this is way too surreal. Am I actually dreaming?"

Gu Zhou retrieved his drumstick from the corner and spoke up cautiously: "So does that mean we've got someone backing us now?"

"Not yet." Lin Xishan shrugged with a smile. "At least until I graduate, I can't tap into my family's resources. Last time was already pushing it—my dad's big on 'nothing can be accomplished without rules and discipline.'"

Zhou Yan didn't join their discussion. He walked over to Pei Zhi, looked down at him, and lowered his voice: "Did you know he was from the Lin Group before this?"

Pei Zhi shook his head. "Only a few days earlier than you guys."

Zhou Yan took a deep breath, patted Pei Zhi on the shoulder, and said nothing more.

Some things didn't need to be said out loud. He knew Pei Zhi understood.

Lin Xishan knew Pei Zhi didn't want him meddling too much in the band's affairs—partly out of pride, and partly because he wanted the band to make it on their own.

He also knew what this investment meant to the Abyss Band—a real chance that was truly theirs, not a handout from anyone.

That was enough.

Once the investment was settled, the Abyss Band threw themselves into preparations.

Recording for the new album was on the calendar. Zhou Yan increased rehearsal sessions from three times a week to five. Jiang Muye, for once, had zero complaints. Gu Zhou even started keeping a notebook to jot down problems and tweaks from each rehearsal.

But Pei Zhi changed the most.

Before, he'd always been the quietest during rehearsals—if he hit a wrong note, he'd frown and start over, never explaining or arguing. But now he'd take the initiative to discuss arrangements with Zhou Yan during breaks, and he'd lay his notebook open for everyone, pages crammed with revision notes and lyric fragments.

Zhou Yan once told Lin Xishan in private that in three years of knowing Pei Zhi, he'd never seen him this serious.

Lin Xishan was slammed during that stretch too.

Professor Chen's new project had hit its most critical final stretch. He spent nearly every day holed up in the library and the project office, doing the final round of checks with Shen Zhiyi.

But no matter how swamped he was, he never failed to remind Pei Zhi to take his meds on time—sometimes via text, sometimes a direct call.

When Pei Zhi picked up, he'd usually just grunt a quick acknowledgment. But Zhou Yan told Lin Xishan that every time he hung up, Pei Zhi's mood would visibly lift.

Yep, that's right—Zhou Yan, in exchange for the investment, had fully defected and become Lin Xishan's spy.

He gave Lin Xishan a daily report on Pei Zhi's every move.

Pei Zhi actually knew about it. But he liked it.

It felt like being cared for.

Late one night, Lin Xishan was pulling overtime at the project office past eleven. His phone buzzed—a text from Pei Zhi: "Took my meds. What are you up to?"

Lin Xishan snapped a pic of his desk piled with papers and sent it back: "Still working. Go to bed."

Pei Zhi didn't reply with "okay." About half a minute later, he sent another message: 【Door's unlocked.】

Lin Xishan stared at those three words for a moment, the corners of his mouth curling up on their own.

He set down the papers, grabbed his jacket, and called out to Shen Zhiyi, still hunched over her desk: "Senior, I'm heading out. I'll finish the rest tomorrow."

Shen Zhiyi looked up, her eyes resting on him for two seconds, a knowing smile in them: "Go on, go. Your body's here, but your heart's already gone."

Lin Xishan didn't deny it. He smiled and pushed through the door.

He grabbed a cab straight to Pei Zhi's apartment. He unlocked the door as quietly as possible, but the living room light was still on. Pei Zhi was leaning against the sofa, a score covered in annotations spread across his knees, head tilted to one side, fast asleep—his breathing steady and even.

Lin Xishan stood in the doorway, watching him for a long moment.

Adorable.

Then he slipped into his slippers, tiptoed over, lifted the score off Pei Zhi's knees, and grabbed a blanket from the closet to cover him.

Pei Zhi stirred sleepily, cracked one eye open, glanced at him, and closed it again.

"You're here?" Pei Zhi's voice was thick with sleep, muffled.

"Yeah." Lin Xishan crouched by the sofa, tugging the slipping blanket back up. "Why didn't you sleep in bed?"

"Waiting for you." Pei Zhi burrowed his face deeper into the blanket and was out again in no time.

Lin Xishan stayed crouched there, watching Pei Zhi's sleeping face, feeling something ache and swell in his chest.

He didn't wake Pei Zhi. He just pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, then went to get ready for bed. When he came out of the bathroom, Pei Zhi had already scooted to the inner side of the sofa, leaving half a spot open.

Lin Xishan turned off the light and lay down beside Pei Zhi. The sofa wasn't big—the two of them squeezed together, shoulders touching, legs pressed against legs.

Half-asleep, Pei Zhi rolled over and buried his face in the crook of Lin Xishan's shoulder, his breath warm and steady against Lin Xishan's collarbone.

Lin Xishan lay awake, staring at the dark ceiling,

remembering the first time he'd come to this apartment, when Pei Zhi had said he only deserved to live in a place like this.

Back then, he hadn't fully grasped the weight of those words. Now he understood: Pei Zhi didn't think he was only fit for a run-down place to live—he thought he didn't deserve anything good at all, whether it was a home, care, or love.

But now, this man was asleep against his shoulder, breathing steadily, brow relaxed, still clutching the corner of his pajama shirt.

Lin Xishan closed his eyes and tightened his arms.

This was good. Just like this.

On the first weekend after album recording officially began, Pei Zhi scheduled a follow-up with Xie Zhiyi.

This time, Lin Xishan didn't wait in the hallway. Pei Zhi asked Xie Zhiyi to call him in, saying some things would be clearer if all three of them talked it through.

At that, Xie Zhiyi raised an eyebrow, then smiled and jotted something down in her notebook.

The session went on for nearly an hour.

Lin Xishan sat beside Pei Zhi, holding his hand, listening as Xie Zhiyi asked, in a calm, professional tone, about how often Pei Zhi's somatic symptoms had flared up over the past few weeks, how he'd been sleeping, and whether he'd been sticking to his medication.

Pei Zhi answered each question, his voice catching every now and then, but he never let go of Lin Xishan's hand.

Toward the end of the session, Xie Zhiyi closed her notebook, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose, her tone warm and pleased: "All your numbers are improving. The frequency of your somatic symptoms has dropped by nearly half since the last assessment, and your avoidance behaviors have gone down too. If this trend keeps up, I can look at gradually lowering your medication dosage at the next evaluation."

Pei Zhi nodded, his finger gently curling into Lin Xishan's palm.

Lin Xishan tightened his grip.

As they left the consultation room, Pei Zhi looked at Lin Xishan and said, "She said I can cut back on the meds."

"Yeah," Lin Xishan agreed. "Congratulations."

"I've been on meds for three years," Pei Zhi said quietly. "It was always increase, adjust, switch, then increase again. This is the first time I've been told it can go down."

Lin Xishan squeezed Pei Zhi's hand a little tighter. "Then you'll get to feel this a lot from now on, until you're fully better."

As the two of them walked out of the hospital entrance, the winter sunlight was perfect.

Pei Zhi stood on the steps, squinting up at the sky for a moment. "Lin Xishan, did I ever tell you that the night I met you, I really thought I was about to die?"

Lin Xishan looked at him quietly.

Pei Zhi didn't look away or drop his gaze. He just met Lin Xishan's eyes, openly.

"Now I don't want to die anymore," Pei Zhi said. "I want to live. I want to live a good life with you."

Lin Xishan opened his mouth, but his throat felt blocked.

So he just reached out, pulled the hood of Pei Zhi's down jacket up over his head, and gave it a light pat through the puffy fabric.

"Stop overthinking," he said. "Come on, let's head home and cook."

Pei Zhi stumbled half a step forward from the pat, reached out to steady himself on Lin Xishan's shoulder, and the corner of his mouth twitched up slightly.

The curve was faint, but Lin Xishan saw it clearly. It was wonderful.