Chapter 30: To Capture by Letting Go?

She first took out her guzheng, polishing it until it gleamed. While most people these days eagerly chose Western instruments, she was more enamored with classical ones—the carriers of a thousand-year-old nation’s profound and intricate culture. That was why, in university, she had chosen electives in both guzheng and calligraphy, purely out of interest. When something became a passion, it was no longer tedious, nor did it feel like a hardship.

Lily-of-the-Valley’s slender fingers plucked the strings, tuning the instrument.

After waiting a while and finding the guest had still not arrived, she quietly took the letter from her bag, leaned against the window, unfolded the paper, and read it carefully: “Mother Lily, how are you? Do you still remember me? I’m Little Chime.”

That word “Mother”—so warm—tumbled straight into her heart. She read on. Though the entire page contained only a single crooked line, sometimes with pinyin substituting for characters, she could feel the earnestness of a little boy in every word: “Mother Lily, this September, I started first grade in elementary school. I’ve made many friends. But I still miss you, Mother Lily. The headmistress told me, as long as I think of you, think every day of the person I miss the most, then she will appear.”

At this, Ye Lilian’s throat burned, and she covered her lips, swallowing a wave of bitterness. Little Chime was the orphan she sponsored, abandoned at the orphanage’s door as a baby because he suffered from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. Since graduating from university, she had seen so much of the world’s cold indifference. From the moment she started working part-time, she used her earnings to support that little boy, giving him the nickname Little Chime. In the blink of an eye, three years had passed.

There was a noise at the door. Lilian started, the letter slipping from her hand to the floor as she hurried to pick it up.

“Mr. Mo, please have a seat!”

Mr. Mo?! But there were other Mos in Nanjiang, not just Mo Zhicheng. It couldn’t be such a coincidence, could it? Ye Lilian nodded, and in the backlight, she finally saw that familiar figure.

— Biluochun. He liked to drink tea.

She suddenly recalled what Tang Pei had once said—he loved tea. Only now did Ye Lilian truly understand the meaning of “without coincidence, there would be no story.”

The host was a slightly older man, but treated him with great deference and warmth. Mo Zhicheng removed his leather shoes, his gaze falling on the woman bent over to pick up her letter. When she raised her eyes, he caught a glimmer of lingering tears in them.

The private room resembled a Japanese tatami chamber. Each person had a simple, square black table. Mo Zhicheng took the seat of honor; the host sat just below him, while two tea ceremony attendants prepared the tea. Wisps of steam curled in the air, filling the room with a delicate fragrance.

“Mr. Mo, please try the most famous pu’er tea here.”

As usual, Ye Lilian placed her guzheng in a corner, tidied her clothing, and knelt gracefully. She sensed a gaze fixed intently on her from not far away. Without looking up, her slender hands danced across the strings, playing, as always, Li Shutong’s “Farewell.” The haunting melody lingered in the air, winding through countless turns, tinged with sorrow.

— But I still miss you, Mother Lily.
— The headmistress told me, as long as I think of you, and think every day of the person I miss the most, she will appear.

Warm tears shimmered in her eyes as the melody danced beneath her fingers.

The song echoed in her memory, a child’s tender voice softly singing: “Beyond the long pavilion, on the ancient road, the grass stretches to the horizon. The evening wind stirs the lingering sound of the flute, as the setting sun descends behind the hills.” She remembered standing silently before the orphanage, watching the boy’s figure as he walked away.

At eight years old, Ye Lilian had secretly wept every New Year’s Eve, longing for her mother—aching with longing. But the headmistress had said, “Lilian, if you just keep thinking, if you think every day of the person you miss the most, she will appear.” Only later did she realize this was the most beautiful lie in the world. So she clung to that lie, holding fast to hope day after day, night after night, until what finally arrived was a ten-year-old Ye Shenghan.