Chapter 11, Chapter 11: Scorch Marks
Xu Yuewei was stunned for a moment by the fact that "it was him," before she realized what he meant.
The silence just now was because he was listening to the ambient sounds on her side, while the sound of rain spilled over.
The thought that she had specifically told Pan Debi not to tell him made Xu Yuewei's ears burn with embarrassment, but she forced herself to remain composed.
"Did Teacher Jiang have fun?"
Don't misunderstand.
Then she heard Pan Mingxuan's voice: "Excuse me, Teacher Xu, Brother Jiang happened to be right next to me and saw it..."
Xu Yuewei choked for a moment, swallowing back the words that were on the tip of her tongue, "Did you really only see it now?"
She rubbed the thick callus on the side of her left thumb knuckle, a mark left from years of playing the piano. She liked to do this little gesture when she was anxious or thinking.
Jiang Shiyan spoke calmly and patiently: "We also have a zither here, you can come and record it."
Do you think I'll go?
"Whatever you want. I wouldn't be unable to understand if I gave up the opportunity."
Xu Yuewei said coldly, "Then you're wrong."
"It's a deal then, I'll wait for you."
After the WeChat call ended without a busy tone, his voice suddenly disappeared from her world.
Only the sound of rain remained.
Soon, the other party sent over the location.
It turns out that when he said "this place," he meant his studio, not his home.
*
The city's neon lights were dimmed by the rain, exuding a cool and desolate atmosphere.
The four-story building bearing the Neon Studio sign was brightly lit. The windows inside were all closed, and thanks to the special sound-amplifying building materials, even the slightest sound could be heard clearly, such as the sound of rain leaking out when the hands-free was turned up to the maximum.
The man lay with his legs outstretched on a sofa in a room on the second floor, his black windbreaker zipped up to his chest, and headphones around his neck with the music stopped.
Cloudy days, rainy days, sunny days—he likes rainy days the most.
It's rhythmic, catchy, and easy to inspire.
The lights of cars moving along the street were reflected in the glass window. After a long while, one light stopped downstairs.
Jiang Shiyan slowly got up, went downstairs, and opened the door.
There was no eaves to shelter her from the rain at the doorway. Xu Yuewei crossed her arms above her head, knocked on the door, and waited a while before the door opened.
She immediately put her hand down and straightened her clothes.
Jiang Shiyan looked her up and down: short boots with a watery sheen, a silver-gray midi skirt that reached her calves, and a black cape with no buttons, barely held in place by a belt, giving her an somewhat haphazard elegance.
She wore makeup; her delicate eyeliner made her almond-shaped eyes look even more innocent, and she wore classic and elegant pearl earrings, which were the perfect finishing touch.
Jiang Shiyan couldn't help but twitch one corner of his mouth and let out a mocking laugh.
Not economic hardship? Nonsense.
A surge of anger welled up inside me, though I didn't know who it was directed at, but when I glanced at her again, that feeling subsided.
He saw her with a cool and aloof face, her hair was wet, reflecting the cold light of the artificial light. The ends of her hair were not dripping wet, but they were still damp. She looked like a traditional Chinese painting with light ink splashes.
It's like a stray cat that can't shake off water on its own.
Jiang Shiyan turned around, his gaze sweeping across the empty room: "Come in."
The room was well-lit, and Xu Yuewei looked around but couldn't see the assistant surnamed Pan.
Looking down at my feet, I saw that the gap between the sole of my boot and the ground was filled with rainwater.
She subtly stepped back: "Do you have slippers or shoe covers?"
"No, just come in."
My shoes are a little dirty.
"The floor is meant to be dirtied by walking on it."
Xu Yuewei took a few steps forward, gently, as if that would leave less trace of dirt.
She lowered her head and carefully stepped lightly, when suddenly, a force that was neither too strong nor too weak landed unexpectedly on her head, startling her into letting out a short, sharp cry of "Ah!"
The white towel dangled at the edge; in his field of vision, a third was the white of the towel, another third was his black windbreaker zipped up to his chest and his white inner layer, and the last third…
With her eyelids drooping, she stared at the small patch of floor between the toes of his sneakers and her own boots.
The weight on her head felt lighter, and she saw his right hand swing down and go into his pocket.
A clear, crisp voice bypassed the towel curtain and entered my ears:
"If you don't like it, you can wipe it with paper."
Xu Yuewei hesitated for a moment, then reached out and pulled off the towel: "No, I just didn't realize it."
Jiang Shiyan raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his voice: "Is that so?"
"...I'll use paper instead."
She turned her palm upwards, gesturing to him.
Jiang Shiyan walked to the coffee table, picked up a pack of tissues, placed it in her palm, and said lightly, "But the quality isn't very good; it leaves foam."
After saying that, he turned around and sat down on the sofa, telling her to make herself at home.
Xu Yuewei was speechless and caught in a dilemma.
After thinking about it, since the towel had already touched her slightly damp hair and gotten dirty, there was no need for her to be reserved anymore.
But after a few perfunctory wipes, her doubts deepened.
He seemed unusually kind today, or was it just my imagination?
After drying her hair, Xu Yuewei walked towards him. No matter how lightly she walked, the heavy soles of her boots inevitably made a sound, becoming the only source of noise in the quiet room.
Hearing her approach, Jiang Shiyan didn't even look up: "The elevator is on the right."
The studio was originally a rented villa with its own elevator, which made it convenient for them to move their musical instruments and equipment.
The silence that followed continued into the rehearsal room.
It's less of a rehearsal room and more like a storage room for musical instruments, all of which are traditional instruments. Looking around, you can see erhu, pipa, and all sorts of other instruments.
A guqin (a traditional Chinese stringed instrument) sits against the wall, its dust cover adorned with serene landscape paintings.
Jiang Shiyan moved the zither and table to an open space without any obstacles, looked around, and then dragged a stool from a corner.
Xu Yuewei reached out and touched the zither.
The body of the instrument is in the style of Fuxi, with a black lacquer finish that is tinged with deep red. The texture is slightly shallow, the curvature of the soundboard is moderate, and the tone is above average. It is worth quite a bit of money.
But every string was out of tune, and a thin layer of dust had accumulated on the dust cover, indicating that it had been idle for some time.
While tuning the instrument, Xu Yuewei casually asked about the price. When he replied, "Around 100,000," she couldn't help but say, "If you don't use it often, there's no need to buy something so expensive. Besides, the instrument needs maintenance."
She was about to continue, "The guqin prefers to stand upright rather than lie down, so please hang it up if it's not used for a long time," when she heard him say, "It's not mine, why would I buy this?"
Xu Yuewei quietly pursed her lips and fell silent.
Jiang Shiyan took out his phone and turned it sideways: "Is it ready? Okay, let's begin."
Taking a deep breath, Xu Yuewei smelled the stale scent of wood. Her hand pressed against the surface of the instrument, her dry fingertips slowly retracting, inadvertently touching a string.
As the fingertips dipped, the steel string produced a deep vibration.
"Not yet," she said, lifting her shawl to take it off, but couldn't find a place to hang her clothes.
Jiang Shiyan had his other hand, which wasn't holding his phone, in his pocket. Xu Yuewei glanced at it briefly, then quickly folded his clothes roughly and draped them over her lap along with a towel and tissues.
A dozen minutes later, they walked out of the rehearsal room one after the other and went down the stairs. Even after they reached the first floor, Xu Yuewei still couldn't find a suitable opportunity to say thank you.
I don't want to be too formal, but I can't stay silent.
But suddenly, her attention was diverted to something else.
On the cold jadeite coffee table, in a slender porcelain vase, a white rose is bent to the side, its flower head drooping slightly, as if it will soon wither.
Xu Yuewei was quite surprised: "You really took it in?"
There was a spot on the petal that looked like it was covered in something dirty; from a distance, it appeared as a black hole, like the eye of an insect.
The boot tip veered off course and headed towards the white rose. Just as she was about to bend down and touch it, a calm male voice sounded behind her: "Don't touch it."
Xu Yuewei paused for a moment, and when she turned around following the sound, a look of confusion flashed across her face.
Jiang Shiyan: "You gave it to me, so it's mine and you're not allowed to touch it."
Who wants to take it from him?
Xu Yuewei tilted her head and lowered her eyes: "I saw something dirty up there..."
The words came to an abrupt halt.
This time she saw clearly that there was nothing dirty at all.
It was a ring of scorch marks.
A note from the author:
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I see it! [Floppy-eared rabbit head]
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