One evening, the afterglow of the setting sun barely squeezed through the window, painting the dim little house with a layer of bleak orange-red. Uncle Zhao was sleeping soundly on the shabby bed, his brows twisted in pain even in his dreams.
Su Mingan sat at the small wooden table that was polished and covered with scratches. On the table was what he had drawn yesterday with a half-broken pencil - a row of crooked rectangles separated by blackened squares. He extended his index finger and carefully and very gently touched the drawn "white keys", his fingertips running over the rough wood grain. Then, his other finger timidly fell on the "black key" next to it.
There was no sound. The only sound in the room was Uncle Zhao's heavy and difficult breathing. But Su Mingan's fingers began to move, pressing and lifting very slowly and silently, playing the black and white keys of the strokes, as if caressing a fragile dream.
His shoulders were slightly tense, his head lowered, and his eyes focused on following the trajectory of his fingertips, as if that could really flow out the kind of brilliant music that he had seen on the big screen on the corner of the street, penetrating the clouds.
Just then, a hoarse, almost tuneless voice came from the bed behind him, like a rusty saw cutting through the suffocating silence.
The voice was filled with pain that had been suppressed for too long, unspeakable guilt, and a desperate gamble:
"……son……"
"No."
The man quickly changed his tune.
This was the first time the man changed his words since they had become completely familiar with each other:
"Ming An..."
Su Mingan's fingers suddenly froze in mid-air, as if they were frozen.
…
"...I can't take care of you anymore...Can you...find another home...?"
…
"The richer the better."
"It's too hard for you to follow me, too hard..."
"I'm already suffering, I can't let you suffer with me..."
"I still have some money locked in the cupboard. Before you leave, tell me and I'll give it all to you... This way, your life in the future... will be better..."
…
…
All was quiet.
Su Mingan didn't want to see what happened next.
He stood silently in the pale nothingness until Wuyi appeared again.
"The test is, let me deny my past?" Su Mingan said.
"It cannot be denied." Wu Yi said, "I know that my past life came from someone's setting, but even so, it was my past. So, we really cannot deny our roots."
"That……"
"Now is the highlight." Wu Yi smiled.
In the paleness of nothingness, that "little Su Ming'an" suddenly stopped acting out these memories and walked out of the picture.
(End of this chapter)
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