The final words spilled from her lips like a plea, and at that exact moment, Fu Jingrong struck the last chord, letting it echo through the room.
The piano note lingered in the air, trembling like a dying heartbeat, before finally fading into silence.
Her voice broke on the last syllable, her lips parting as if she wanted to say more, but only silence followed.
Hua Jing sat there, her chest heaving, as though her very soul had been poured into the song.
And Fu Jingrong's hands rested on the keys, unmoving, the weight of the final note still heavy between them.
The silence in the music room stretched, but neither of them moved. Their gazes locked, heavy with years of unspoken words.
Hua Jing's heart trembled. Even though she and Fu Jingrong had already cleared their misunderstandings in the ancient world—when he was Zhaoyang, the prince, and she was by his side—there were still some strings that remained untouched.
Those strings tugged at her now.
