A Magnificent Chapter Under the Moon
Back in Beijing, the wind and sand of the Gobi Desert and the ancient imprints of the grotto murals did not fade from Zhiwei's heart amidst the hustle and bustle of the city.
The young archaeologist, Han Yu, was a meticulous person. He would occasionally send her updates on the project via email, along with a few photos of newly unearthed sections of the murals. Those lines and colors, spanning thousands of years, carried the desolate atmosphere of the western wilderness, quite different from the magnificent and intricate murals she had seen during her three years of research in Europe, yet equally breathtaking.
These fresh, primal, and powerful aesthetic inputs collided fiercely with the many images that had long settled in her mind, finally igniting her creative passion that had been dormant for many years. She picked up her paintbrush again, determined to break away from the elegant but somewhat repetitive framework of courtly and princess styles that she had used in her past wedding dress designs, and create a completely new series.
Her spacious studio in the elegant garden once again became her battlefield. Design drafts covered the huge workbench, and countless sketches were scattered on the floor. She was pursuing an unprecedented fusion—combining the flowing lines of Western murals and symbolic elements of ancient civilizations with the romantic conception of modern wedding dresses.
She would often draw hundreds of drafts, only to crush them all and start over the next moment. She was completely immersed in the torrent of creation, losing herself in the process.
One weekend afternoon, Wang Jingnan came to visit and saw Zhiwei hunched over her painting table, her brows furrowed and her fingertips still covered in wet paint.
Xiaoyu quietly pulled Jingnan aside, her voice filled with worry: "Miss hasn't been eating properly these past few days, and she's been sleeping in the studio. How can her body take this?"
Seeing her friend's almost obsessive concentration, Jingnan knew that persuasion wouldn't work at this point, and she had to let her mind relax for a while.
She asked Xiaoyu carefully, "Doesn't she need to rest sometimes? Has she had any other hobbies lately?" Xiaoyu thought for a moment and replied, "When she gets tired of painting, she sometimes listens to music to relax. Lately, I've been hearing her listen to a song called 'Begonia' on repeat, and she even praised her voice, saying it was 'clear and ethereal, able to wash away the noise in her head.'"
Jingnan memorized the name. With Zhiwei's fortieth birthday approaching, an idea formed in her mind. She joined forces with Shiya and Xiaoyu, and secretly began to plan.
It was a day close to her birthday, coinciding with a full moon. Jingnan practically forced Zhiwei out of her pile of drawings and shoved her into the car. "I'm taking you to get a brain transplant," she said firmly. The car stopped at a secluded pier near Shichahai.
In the darkness, an antique-style painted boat adorned with lanterns waited quietly. Jingnan helped Zhiwei board, and the boatman gently pushed off with his pole, the small boat gliding silently onto the shimmering water. The evening breeze, carrying a cool mist, brushed against their faces, dispelling the fatigue of the past few days.
The painted boat slowly sailed towards a grove of late-blooming cherry blossoms by the water. It was the height of their bloom, the branches still adorned with a profusion of pink and white blossoms, almost entirely devoid of other colors. Bathed in the silvery moonlight, the scene was dreamlike and ethereal. The water reflected the moonlight, the lamplight, and the blossoms, creating a tranquil, crystal-clear world.
Just as Zhiwei was immersed in the tranquil beauty of the scene, another small boat quietly approached from a distance. No lights were on the boat; only the moonlight outlined its hull and the figures of several musicians holding traditional instruments. The soft sounds of string and wind instruments began, like the gentle murmur of flowing water. Then, a male voice rose gracefully with the music, singing the song "Begonia."
The voice was indeed as she had praised it, clear and pure, with a unique ethereal quality, spreading gently across the still water, each word seemingly striking a chord in one's heart.
Moonlight, late-blooming cherry blossoms, shimmering water, music, and a song that seemed to drift from beyond the heavens—all these elements wove together to create an exquisitely romantic, almost unreal, night. Zhiwei leaned against the side of the boat, listening and watching quietly. The tension that had gripped her for days gradually eased with the song, and the tangled lines and colors in her mind seemed to be smoothed out by the moonlight and the music.
She didn't ask who the singer was, nor did she speak; she simply allowed herself to immerse herself in this unexpected and unique moment. When one song ended, there was only a brief pause before another melody began—some familiar, some unfamiliar. Even the simplest words, sung from that ethereal voice, seemed to have been refined by the moonlight and lake water, stripped of all worldly concerns, leaving only a pure, soul-stirring tremor.
The song, like a clear spring, gently flowed into her heart, which had been burning with anxiety from days of creative work. She closed her eyes, and the design lines that had been tangling in her mind gradually relaxed and became clear under the soothing melody, as if they had found their rhythm. She stopped thinking about style and integration, and simply felt it purely.
For over an hour, more than ten songs unfolded like a slowly unfurling poem, subtly soothing her soul. The gentle melancholy of "Begonia," the clarity of "Moonlight," the serene distance of "Fleeting Years"... her voice maintained a consistently clear and crisp quality. Even when performing the most tender melodies, it carried a perfectly balanced detachment, neither deliberately sentimental nor seeking resonance, like the moonlight shining on the cherry blossoms tonight—beautiful, yet belonging to no one.
She had had her fill of fun. She turned her head slightly and whispered to Jingnan, "Let's go back."
The painted boat slowly turned around and headed back towards the dock from which it had come. Behind it, the singing from the small boat did not stop, but continued to follow faintly on the evening breeze, only gradually fading away and disappearing into a hazy mist.
Zhiwei leaned against the ship's railing, her mind at peace for the first time in a long time, as if gently cleansed by the song and moonlight, the anxiety and fatigue of the past few days flowing away with the waves.
Unbeknownst to her, on that small boat that was gradually drifting away, the singer named Yu Bin, watching the departing figures on the painted boat, felt a strange sense of loss lingering in his heart—that brief, silent exchange across the water had stirred his heart more than any enthusiastic applause.
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