Chapter 11:The duration of a song

“Let’s be clear.”

Meng Zhi took a bite of duck blood, muttering as if to himself. “No more talk about rebirth or past lives.”

“I don’t believe in that stuff.”

…Even though I’m reborn myself. He smirked inwardly.

Feng Xiyao lowered her head, fidgeting with her fingers, then looked up timidly. “I… I don’t know how to explain.”

“It’s just… I came across some… unbelievable things…”

Seeing her stammer, Meng Zhi sighed and set down his chopsticks. “Feng Xiyao, be honest. Did you look into me because of my dad and your mom?”

“I—”

She started to protest, but her eyes flickered, and she nodded. “Yeah.”

“I-I heard from my mom I’d have a brother close to my age. I got nervous but excited, so I asked Uncle Meng about you.”

“I even sneaked to your school to check you out and saw you going home with a girl.”

“Then I asked Uncle Meng and learned you have a close childhood friend, Chen Xinya.”

Her story sounded so convincing, she seemed to believe it herself, nodding. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Better be.

At least think through your lies next time so I don’t have to feed you lines.

Meng Zhi wanted to roll his eyes at the silly girl, but he knew her well. Unlike Chen Xinya’s intricate, heavy thoughts, Feng Xiyao was carefree, a bit reckless, an optimistic free spirit.

Her music was like her—bold, unrestrained, vibrant rock.

She didn’t read the room, didn’t cater to others’ feelings, spoke bluntly. She’d even proposed confessing and running away together.

Looking back on that life, Meng Zhi hadn’t realized how relaxing it was to love someone as straightforward as Feng Xiyao after the exhausting marriage with Chen Xinya.

No worrying about his phone being tracked. No hiding his fatigue. No carefully choosing words to avoid triggering her.

When she was upset, she’d pout and bury her face in his chest. When happy, she’d cling to him, refusing to let go. Her emotions were as clear as her smile.

Sometimes, Meng Zhi wondered if he hadn’t been so scarred by Chen Xinya, or if Feng Xiyao’s end had come later, could he have healed, forgotten Chen Xinya, and fully committed to saving her?

No use. No what-ifs.

His wounds never healed. Instead, he dragged Feng Xiyao into the mire with him.

“Brother Meng Zhi?”

Her voice pulled him back. Her bright eyes blinked, lips around her milk tea straw. “Can you tell me your birthday now?”

“Yeah.”

He looked away lazily. “September twenty-six.”

“September twenty-six… got it!”

Feng Xiyao entered it into her phone, grinning. “I’ll get you an awesome birthday gift.”

“No need. We’re not close enough for gifts.”

“It’s months away. Maybe we’ll be closer by then, right?”

“Better not.” Meng Zhi sipped his tea, uninterested. “Gifts mean I have to reciprocate. I hate picking them out, spending money, figuring out what people like. Too expensive feels forced, too cheap looks bad…”

Feng Xiyao cut him off, serious. “No need to stress. For my birthday, can you get me a Rejuvenation Pill album?”

Meng Zhi froze.

Her eyes glistened, staring earnestly at his face.

He remembered. Three months after they ran away, he gave her that album for her first birthday gift—a signed Rejuvenation Pill record he’d queued for hours to get because she loved them.

But that was years away. Too early now.

“Rejuvenation Pill… I barely know their stuff.”

“Give them a listen. They’re great.” She opened her phone and slipped off one earphone.

Sliding next to him, she leaned close, placing the earphone in his ear.

“I—”

“Shh.” She pressed a finger to her lips, silencing him.

She was so close, he could smell her shampoo, see the faint makeup on her cheeks. Her long lashes curved beautifully, framing bright, glowing eyes.

Meng Zhi knew she liked silence when listening to music, so he didn’t interrupt, sharing the melody flowing through the earphone.

“I dream of riding my beat-up motorcycle, taking a spin.”

“But I, but I, but I sold the bike.”

At some point, he felt her head rest lightly on his shoulder. Her short hair brushed his neck, ticklish yet comforting.

For a moment, he was back in that dim, cramped rental. On a messy bed, he and Feng Xiyao, wrapped in blankets, shared an earphone, listening to Liu Ximeng scream, “My heart, my heart.”

The whole apartment, all for you.

This time, Meng Zhi didn’t push her away. He couldn’t bring himself to.

At least let her finish the song.

…

“Always blooming, always blooming~”

Even after the song ended, Feng Xiyao hummed softly, lost in the melody. Meng Zhi finally spoke. “How long are you gonna lean on me?”

“Hmm… as long as I can.”

She rubbed her head against his shoulder, playfully shy. “Can’t help it~ Your shoulder’s so warm, I’m hooked—”

“But the meat’s gonna overcook if we don’t eat,” he cut in, deadpan.

Reluctantly, she returned to her seat.

“The meatballs are ready. Grab a couple.”

“Mmm… hey, let me try your dipping sauce.”

“It’s just pure sesame paste, nothing special—hey!”

“Let me try, Brother Meng Zhi!”

She got her way, dipping into his sauce and eating happily, when she noticed Meng Zhi staring out the window.

Following his gaze, she saw a lost, dazed figure standing outside, watching them.

As if she’d seen every intimate moment between them.

…Chen Xinya.