Chapter 22: The Mysterious Song

That evening, with nothing else to occupy her, Meng Yier wandered up to the rooftop to tend to the flowers and plants. She remembered how her mother loved them dearly; when she was a child, their home was always filled with blossoms, and her mother cared for them so well they flourished with vibrant life. In her memory, her mother's favorite flower was jasmine. The gentle fragrance of jasmine always lingered in that childhood home, so familiar to her that even now, Meng Yier recognized it instantly. Whenever the scent of jasmine wafted by, she would inevitably think of her mother—elegant and beautiful, like the flower itself.

Perhaps it was her mother’s influence, but Meng Yier had always been fond of flowers and plants, and skillful at tending to them. When she lived in America, the Gu household was transformed by her touch: everywhere was adorned with greenery and blooms. Even the housekeeper was infected by her enthusiasm, becoming enamored with gardening. The family gardener would consult her whenever he encountered difficulties caring for the plants.

Gu Yunchen, however, never took much interest. “What’s the point of growing so many flowers and plants?” he would say. “It’s a waste of time and energy.” But Meng Yier always countered with a torrent of reasoning, leaving him speechless and unable to retort. Though he regarded her hobby as meaningless, from time to time he would still bring her rare and exotic plants. Meng Yier was always delighted, knowing it was his way of showing kindness. She could not resist teasing him whenever his expression betrayed awkwardness.

“Didn’t you say keeping flowers and plants was pointless? Why do you keep buying them for me?”

Gu Yunchen would reply coldly, “I just think it’s good for you to spend more time caring for them. At least it means you’ll bother me less.”

Meng Yier would answer with utmost seriousness, “Brother, you know, girls all love flowers and plants. Lucky for you I’m your sister—if you ever have a girlfriend, and you say that to her, I’m afraid she’ll pass you by.”

Gu Yunchen would ignore her after that, except for one occasion, when he paused for a long time before responding, “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”

Meng Yier always felt he was a hopelessly straightforward man, suffering from incurable ‘straight man syndrome.’

Thinking of Gu Yunchen, Meng Yier suddenly felt a pang of loneliness. He was not talkative, but he always kept her company—or rather, insisted she accompany him. He would take her shopping, out for walks, and when work kept him busy, he would ask Meng Yier to stay by his side while he worked, reading or drawing nearby.

Several days had passed since she arrived in Haishi. She had only seen Yu Mingxin twice, and apart from that, she had no friends or family to rely on here.

Suddenly, a melodious guitar accompanied by singing drifted into her ears, interrupting her thoughts. It was a man's voice—rich and magnetic, with a hint of huskiness that made it all the more captivating. Meng Yier was immediately drawn to it. She lost interest in her gardening, settling gently into the hanging chair, listening intently to the enchanting song.

As she listened, something within her stirred, and she felt a sudden urge to cry.

It was only when the guitar and singing ceased that Meng Yier returned to herself. The sound had felt so close, as if it came from nearby. She stood up and went to the edge of the rooftop, searching for the source, but saw nothing. Disappointed, she lowered her gaze.

Soon, the guitar and singing resumed. Yes, Meng Yier was certain now—the sound was coming from next door, though no one was visible within her line of sight. She surmised it must be coming from inside.

The guitar and singing continued, repeating for a long time. Meng Yier was spellbound, listening until darkness fully enveloped the city and the music faded away.

Over the next several days, Meng Yier frequently heard that voice, sometimes interspersed with other songs. She realized she was utterly captivated by it.

This voice brought a touch of warmth to her lonely existence in the city.