Mo Yachen's voice suddenly grew hoarse.
"From the moment I was born, I had every material advantage. As the only son of the Mo family, I was both cherished… and burdened with heavy expectations."
"If painting with my mother was the path set for me, then music was the first thing I ever truly wanted for myself."
His head hung low. At some point, his brush had slipped from his hand to the floor. He noticed his tension, forced his face back into a mask of calm, and continued:
"I was frustrated. I would sneak away from my mother to sit in on my father's classes, only to be dragged back every time."
He exhaled deeply.
"It must have been five years ago. I was fourteen, old enough to understand. By then, I knew—my father never wanted me dividing myself between art and music."
He bent down, picked up the brush, placed it back on the easel, then walked over and sat beside Ji Yu. Only after shifting into a comfortable position did he finally lie down, utterly exhausted.
"How did you meet her?" Ji Yu asked softly.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
"It's almost laughable, really."
He paused, gathering the memory.
"The first time I met her was right after another rejection from my father."
"Maybe it was because I couldn't have it, that I wanted it more. After being turned away again and again, my hunger for music completely outweighed any interest in painting. But back then… I had no power to live the life I wanted."
"That was when… Liu Qian decided to secretly teach me guitar."
"She patched over the first cracks of regret in my life."
Mo Xunhan dipped her finger in the condensation on her glass of cola and traced idle lines on the table, laughing softly.
"He came to me, asking about Liu Qian. To be honest, I was shocked. Maybe I was still in my silly teenage years, full of romance. I thought Yachen had a crush on her."
"She had been around our home for years. She was my best friend, always coming over to learn guitar from Father."
"I told him a lot. Too much. Even gave him her address—half as a joke."
Her laughter faded into a bitter smile.
"That… was where everything began to go wrong."
"So yes, I got her address from Xunhan. I was still just a kid. She was kind to me, so I wanted to surprise her. I went to her house, hoping to give her a shock and tell her I could go there to learn guitar, instead of sneaking lessons in the Mo estate."
Mo Yachen tapped his leg absently, face expressionless.
"But the day after I learned her address… I saw it."
"Liu Qian, you're here early again. Practicing already? So diligent."
"Mhm. I don't really have much else to do."
"Beautiful music—just like the one playing it."
"Ah… ah?! Y-you flatter me…"
"It's just a shame, though. You work so hard, writing your own chords and melodies, but Mo-laoshi never accepts them. Always has you break them apart and start again."
"I admire that patience. That courage."
"It can't be helped. Teacher Mo is a professional. His songs are precise. But he always gives me feedback, and if he's willing to hear my chords at all, that's already enough for me."
"…As expected of Mo-laoshi's prized guitarist from Huoniao. Your eye for music runs deep."
"N-no, that's just what people joke about!"
"You do a good job pretending, though."
"…For a mere guitar player."
Mo Yachen's lips twisted into a self-mocking smile.
Across the sofa, Ji Yu's blue eyes stayed fixed on him. She could read the waves of his emotions. And now—he looked less cold than before, more fragile.
"Looking back… the guitar might have been her only way of expressing herself. Liu Qian poured more into it than anyone else. That's why my father always pushed her into concerts, had her compose new chords, create new songs."
"As long as the six strings could still sing… no matter how unfair the others were, she kept her smile."
He left the room, returning minutes later with a plate of fruit and two cups of coffee. Ji Yu didn't understand why, but she accepted the offering and ate quietly.
Watching her, he smiled faintly—a rare, fragile happiness. Then he continued:
"When I saw them bullying her with words, I'd ask her to come to my room to teach me. At least that way, she could stay away from them. And in those days, I learned so much about music theory."
"But one day… I stumbled on something worse."
His head lifted. His fists clenched tight.
"Her guitar was broken."
"It wasn't expensive—an old, second-hand acoustic. But I knew. The holes stabbed into its body, the gashes in the wood… they weren't accidents."
"She lived at our estate, in a room Father gave her. That holiday, I came back from school in Shanghai, and we both stayed there. She left her guitar in the recording room instead of carrying it with her."
Xunhan's expression darkened. She gripped her glass and drank, again and again.
"I knew those cuts were deliberate. Even I felt afraid, disgusted. Afraid of the ones so twisted by jealousy. Disgusted by what they could do."
Mo Yachen's eyes shifted toward Ji Yu's guitar case, recognizing instantly that it was nearly the same kind Liu Qian used. His gaze grew distant, and his voice softened.
"What did she say, when she saw it? Heh…"
"She smiled. She said, 'This guitar was old anyway. Maybe it's a good excuse to get a new one. I'll figure out something else for lessons today.'"
His laugh was sharp, bitter.
"Interesting, isn't it? The same people who smiled at me in the recording room, begged for my help, treated me with kindness…"
"They were the ones who erased her existence. Who left her alone."
He stabbed a piece of watermelon with a toothpick. The red juice spilled down his lips like blood.
"I told Father. But bullying… the more you resist, the harder it hits back."
"And that summer, during the music festival, my father chose—of all people—the one who led the bullying… as part of the band."
His gaze snapped toward Ji Yu, cold and sharp as a blade. She lowered her head, unable to meet it.
Did she regret it?
Regret prying open this wound?
Regret uncovering a story soaked in cruelty?
At least Mo Yachen didn't.
He hugged a pillow to his chest, still staring at her in silence.