Chapter 110 Her footsteps gradually...
She slowly climbed the stairs.
The higher she went, the dimmer the lights became. The third-floor corridor was so quiet that she could hear even the smallest footsteps. But from the slightest sound at the end of the corridor, she could hear the sound of running water.
At that moment, she suddenly felt as if she were conducting some kind of experiment.
Desensitization experiment.
She tried her best to appear calm.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs for a while, and when the sound of water at the end completely stopped, she felt helpless. She slipped into the small study upstairs and pretended to be selecting books.
They rarely came to the study on the third floor because it mainly contained old records, mostly records of European and American stars that Cheng Mingdu's mother liked when she was young. Many of the vinyl records were brought over from overseas during her travels.
She reached out to touch the neat row of record covers, a thin layer of dust melting at her fingertips.
The album cover features smiling faces from youth, frozen memories of the past, and a coastline faded by sunlight.
The air was filled with an indescribable smell—old wood, paper, and a touch of the warmth of time.
Ye Yuying looked up and saw a dim wall lamp at the top of the bookshelf. The lampshade glowed faintly, like embers trapped in time.
She felt a strange sense of peace, as if her heartbeat, which had been suppressed for too long, was searching for an outlet.
The air in the corridor became extremely light, and footsteps came from afar.
You can recognize him instantly by his calm, steady, and almost constant footsteps.
Ye Yuying froze, but her fingers inexplicably picked up a record, "Blue," released by Joni Mitchell in 1971.
The woman on the cover tilts her head slightly against the backdrop of the sea, her eyes closed, as if waiting or enduring pain. The entire album is filled with melancholy and loneliness.
As the footsteps drew closer, her heart pounded like thunder, as if her chest was being pounded by her own heartbeat.
Cheng Mingdu appeared at the door, his white shirt unbuttoned, sleeves loosely rolled up, his hair still wet, water droplets running down his temples, reflecting the light.
Ye Yuying dared not look back.
The moment he stepped into the study, the air was filled with the scent of moisture, a familiar blend of patchouli and soap, which invaded her nostrils faster and more intensely than usual.
She stood beside the shelf, her fingertips touching the edge of the record, even the strands of her hair trembling.
She thought she could do it; as long as she faced it, she could extinguish the fire in her heart.
But she was wrong. The closer the fire got, the clearer the burning sensation became. Her reason teetered on the brink of collapse, as if she could no longer control her actions.
Her fears, her desires, her impulse to get closer yet loathe herself—all these were mixed together, forming an inescapable spiderweb.
He was taken aback, clearly not expecting her to be there.
"How did you end up here?" The voice was gentle, but carried a barely perceptible weariness.
Ye Yuying turned around, trying her best to calm herself down.
"I just saw an introduction to vinyl records. I've never heard of them before, so I wanted to come and take a look..." She raised the records in her hand, trying to make her tone sound natural. "These discs seem to have been untouched for many years."
Cheng Mingdu took a few steps closer, dried his hair, and glanced at the cover in her hand.
“That was one of my mother’s favorites,” he paused, his voice lowering.
He said softly, "Many of these records are older than me."
Ye Yuying hummed in agreement and put the record back. She turned her back, using the act of tidying up to conceal her emotions.
"I probably wouldn't appreciate that."
"What would you like to hear?" he asked.
Ye Yuying casually pointed to the highest point, "That one, I can't reach it."
He looked up following her fingertips, and the light fell on her slender wrist, making her skin so translucent that you could almost see the veins running through it.
His gaze was elusive; everything about him was fleeting.
Cheng Mingdu tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on the record she was pointing to.
The cover has a pale pink sheen, its soft outlines like those bathed in morning light. At the center is a young girl's profile—her expression gentle, her eyes serene. Below the cover are a few delicate letters:
Ayumi Hamasaki — Dearest.
He approached the bookshelf and stood very close behind her. His cool, cool breath, mixed with a faint fragrance, landed on the skin of the back of her neck... Countless tiny hairs on her neck felt tense and painful, as if they were on fire.
He deftly reached out and took it, his fingertips gliding along the edge of the record to brush away the thin layer of dust, before handing it to her in a calm tone: "You should like this one; it's not that old."
The record player was right by the window, with an old-fashioned wooden base and a round metal stylus lying quietly on its stand.
Cheng Mingdu unpacked the package, lowered his head, and gently placed the black vinyl on it.
The moment the needle fell, a faint noise filled the air, followed by an extremely soft melody.
When the prelude begins, it's like heavy light sinking down, so gentle it almost hurts your heart.
Ayumi Hamasaki's highly recognizable voice rang out, with a slightly breathy tremor, as if she were whispering a confession, or as if she were comforting all the lonely souls in the world.
Cheng Mingdu didn't say anything more, but just leaned against the bookshelf with a calm expression.
Ye Yuying, on the other hand, seemed caught in the middle, torn between the song and herself.
She watched the record player slowly spin, and with each rotation, she felt an even deeper sense of disorientation.
He said, "This is a voice from the millennium, an era so different from today..."
At that time, people still believed that music could redeem everything.
The melody of "Dearest" continued to flow slowly, and Ye Yuying listened in a daze.
She lowered her eyes and gently stroked the record's casing with her fingertips.
Behind her, he breathed quietly, half a meter away, yet his presence was enough to disrupt her entire world.
"...Does your mother like this song?" she asked in a low voice.
“Hmm,” Cheng Mingdu replied casually.
And what about you?
He didn't answer immediately, but just smiled faintly, as if he were avoiding some corner that shouldn't be touched.
I don't listen to these kinds of songs much.
He turned his head, his gaze falling on the lake outside the window. The evening sky had deepened, and the shimmering water was divided into layers of gray-blue by the twilight.
"I'm not used to being nostalgic."
Ye Yuying's eyes dimmed slightly, as if she could already imagine the distant future, when they had to say goodbye, and whether he would no longer think of her...
But she always looks back; her heart is trapped in looking back. She is obsessed with family ties and can't let go of the family ties she once had. She has seen countless more modern and comfortable lives, but she has never completely forgotten every blade of grass and every tree in her grandmother's house.
There were two low-backed chairs in the study, and they each sat on one side listening to music.
She fell silent again. It seemed that, except for the most confused moments in her life, she couldn't say a single word to him, because every word was something she shouldn't say.
"Brother... I'm almost an adult."
Her words sounded like a reminder, yet also like a bewildered sigh.
The record player's needle continued to spin.
He asked, "How do you want to celebrate your coming-of-age ceremony? Who do you want to invite? Where do you want it to be held?"
Because she attended many people's coming-of-age ceremonies during this holiday, which were basically all similar, Cheng Mingdu seemed to have noticed that people of their age like to have fun with their friends.
"I...haven't decided yet."
She just wanted to be with him, no matter where or what.
That day she made up a character, "I have a classmate named Chen Luo, and she's been having some troubles lately..."
Cheng Mingdu didn't move, just glanced at her quietly, waiting for her to continue.
"On her eighteenth birthday, Chen Luo went to a bar with everyone and met a man who was much older than her."
Cheng Mingdu asked, "How old are you?"
"...Seven years old." Ye Yuying quickly calculated in her mind that the age difference between her and Cheng Mingdu was six years, but this number was too obvious, so she simply added a year.
"Chen Luo felt that her life experience was completely mismatched with this man's, but she just liked him, hopelessly liked him, and he was all she could think about."
"Tell me," Ye Yuying suddenly looked at Cheng Mingdu and asked seriously, "what should she do?"
The singing continued, and Cheng Mingdu was slightly taken aback.
He didn't answer immediately, but slowly leaned back in his chair, folded his hands on his knees, and a moment of contemplation appeared in his eyes.
"You just said she just turned eighteen?"
"Mmm." Ye Yuying nodded, her voice so soft it was almost drowned out by the noise of the record player.
Does that person like her?
Ye Yuying shook her head honestly.
He hummed in agreement, as if he was carefully choosing his words.
"At eighteen, it's easy to assume that the feeling of liking someone is unique, but that's not true. This age gap can easily put her in a dangerous situation, so it's best to observe her closely."
"She feels that person is particularly important now because she hasn't met someone more important yet."
Ye Yuying pressed further, "What if she never meets someone more important?"
These words almost came out of Ye Yuying's mouth.
She regretted it as soon as she finished speaking. Her voice was too urgent and too sincere, almost tearing away the facade she was wearing.
Cheng Mingdu glanced at her. His gaze was so calm, so calm, that it made her uneasy.
He paused for a moment before saying calmly, "Then she has to learn to coexist peacefully with that liking."
"Some feelings are not meant to be possessed, but rather to be experienced. It's enough if they leave a mark on your heart."
"Should she tell him?" she asked again, her voice almost trembling.
"Should we tell him what he can change?"
"cannot."
"Then there's no need to say anything."
Cheng Mingdu's answer remained gentle, yet it carried an unwavering firmness.
The air was so still that only the low hum of the record player could be heard.
Ye Yuying's fingertips unconsciously tugged at the hem of her clothes, piercing a hole in the fragile fabric, and her heart felt empty as a result.
"Then... what if she can't forget? She's in so much pain right now, she's in so much pain."
Cheng Mingdu raised his eyes and looked at her with a deep, unfathomable sorrow.
"Then let time help her, gradually diluting all impulses without her even realizing it. Whether it's pain or joy, life will eventually smooth it out."
Ye Yuying asked, "When you were eighteen, did you ever have any impulses towards the opposite sex?"
Cheng Mingdu stood up, reached out to turn off the record player, and straightened up, saying, "...No."
Ye Yuying sat there, motionless for a long time.
She gave a soft laugh, a laugh tinged with bitterness.
“I understand,” she choked back a few words, suppressing a torrent of emotions. “I will encourage her to try...to forget.”
She stood up and whispered, "Thank you."
After saying that, she turned and left.
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