Time: 19:00
Weather: Thunderstorm
Location: Mo Residence
Liu Qian was used to people keeping their distance.
She leaned by the window, staring through the glass at the drizzle outside.
Two hours earlier, Teacher Mo had ordered the guitar students to gather here for a meeting. Yet this spacious room—clearly not designed for meetings—carried with it a quiet, unsettling weight.
The corridor lights flickered.
The storm made the glow pulse, as though at any moment it might die out.
The rain thickened, and night deepened.
On nights like this, one couldn't help but feel—something was bound to happen.
Exhale…
"This year's summer music festival will be hosted by Huoniao Music, with our venue and band providing support."
Inhale…
"After discussion, the board has decided: this festival will feature a new band of rising talents."
Exhale…
"So this year's guitarist will be—"
Inhale…
"—Gao Lan."
Silence replaced breath.
Everyone turned to congratulate Gao Lan, newly chosen as guitarist.
And Liu Qian…
"This year's performance will include solo sections. Technically and artistically, Liu Qian is still the most outstanding of you all."
"But lately, her work has been stagnant. Her chords show no freshness, her spirit has waned."
"I believe it would do her good to rest, to relax, to open her heart."
Liu Qian trembled.
She didn't protest, didn't fight for the spot. After the brief shock, she only bit her lip, her pale face draining of its last hint of color.
"…I'll… recover soon."
The light dimmed.
In Mo Yachen's courtyard, Liu Qian sat in the living room, staring blankly at the rain.
CRACK—
A flash of lightning revealed a boy, soaked but radiant with youthful vigor, stepping inside with an umbrella.
"Liu Qian-jie…"
She turned, wet hair plastered to her skin, her soaked clothes clinging and translucent.
"Ah… back already, Yachen?"
BOOM—
The next lightning strike lit her face. Twisted, blurred—almost unrecognizable.
The torrential rain pounded the earth, raising mist, the world drowning in sound.
"What happened, Liu Qian-jie—"
Before he could finish, she yanked his hand, dragging him close. Her contorted face burned into his eyes.
"You know. You know everything—why even ask?"
Her voice cracked three times in one sentence, tearing away the mask from her once-gentle self.
"I've treated you so well… why won't you help me?!"
Years of bullying—had they turned this gentle girl into someone who now clawed at those weaker than herself? Or perhaps, after endless humiliation, even saints would collect seven parts of resentment.
And she was only ever shy. Soft. Kind.
"If you, the only son of the Mo family, would just say one word for me—just tell Mo-laoshi once—that worthless pack of guitarists could all be thrown out!"
Thunder roared.
The swollen clouds dragged the storm darker still.
Her hand clamped his throat as she climbed onto him, hair dripping across his face like ice colder than rain.
"…Ah. You're already growing up, aren't you?"
She laughed.
That laugh—caught in lightning—froze him in terror.
For the first time, Mo Yachen felt it.
Horror.
BOOM—
Rain lashed against the earth, drowning the night.
"Yachen. This courtyard is far from the main house, isn't it?"
"In a storm like this… no one would notice, no matter what happened here."
Her voice was cold, merciless—more terrifying than the storm itself. The soul behind it was gone, swallowed by a hurricane, leaving only a monster.
"If I carried your child… would Mo-laoshi say I had finally opened my heart?"
KRAKOOOM—
The pillow fell to the floor. Her pale legs pushed it aside.
"So. Do you understand now?"
Mo Yachen pinned Ji Yu down, his hand clamped around her wrist. His glasses fogged with condensation, hiding his eyes.
Blue—smothered by darkness.
Heat, pain—her nerves burned as he smiled, cold, watching her useless struggles.
The storm raged outside.
That smile—it was the same smile.
The smile of a predator.
The smile before assault.
"Ji Yu, as Yachen's sister it may sound harsh, but I really do like you. Please don't take this the wrong way."
"…Eh?"
"A woman forced me from my home. A woman hurt me in the worst way. Tell me—what do you think I feel?"
"I've watched you. You're gentle, you put up with him, you compromise. I knew long ago you could endure his temper."
"That's because…"
"You always put others first. You love your guitar. You're kind. You don't fit in."
"Just like her. Just like she still won't let me go."
"You're nothing but a stand-in. From the beginning, always a stand-in."
The summer storm howled.
Ji Yu's blue eyes stayed open, but she no longer resisted. Her wrists bruised purple under his grip, but she made no sound.
Was she afraid?
She thought. She pieced together his sister's words, his demands, the fragments of a story he had buried.
Her teeth clenched. Her face blanched, then flushed. Pain flared in her wrists and neck, but still—she had to act.
If she was the light left in this house of darkness, then she had to keep it burning.
Even as a substitute.
Her hands relaxed. Her breath steadied.
Her eyes opened. She dared to ask—
"Mo Yachen… you don't actually hate her, do you?"
His reply was sharp as a blade:
"What do you know? Don't think a year of playing house makes you understand me!"
His voice crushed her beneath storm and silence.
"…I—"
Her breath stuttered. Her heart ached more than her body.
Her gaze fell on him, shirtless, looming above her.
What did she know of him? A year, not even every day together—what did she really know?
Playing house. A substitute.
Had he seen her that way from the start?
If so…
"Back then—you couldn't help her. That's what hurts you most, isn't it?"