After the divorce, he went on a motorcycle trip, and his ex-wife and daughter were filled with regre

That photo, full of tension and story, was like a bomb dropped into the deep sea in SKY, a niche app frequented by artsy types and lonely souls. It began to quietly ferment, triggering an unprecedented resonance of the soul.

Jiang Ye, on the other hand, had long since forgotten about his phone and continued his aimless, reckless journey.

A few days later, in the southwestern border region.

The climate here is like a woman's face, changing in an instant. One second it's sunny and bright, the next a sudden gale blows, and dark clouds, like a giant black cloth, instantly cover the entire sky.

"Boom—!"

A deafening clap of thunder exploded overhead, followed by a torrential downpour.

Large raindrops pounded against Jiang Ye's carbon fiber helmet, making a dense "pitter-patter" sound. The gale-force winds, accompanied by torrential rain, instantly reduced visibility to its lowest point. Even a performance monster like the Kawasaki H2R was forced to slow down on the muddy and flooded mountain road.

Jiang Ye was completely soaked. The icy rain seeped in through the gaps in his leather jacket, taking away the warmth from his skin, but he didn't even flinch.

The outline of an ancient town came into view ahead.

Jiang Ye released the clutch, downshifted, and slowly drove the motorcycle into the remote border town shrouded in torrential rain.

The town's main street was filled with various commercial shops, their colorful neon lights glaringly bright in the rain. Jiang Ye had no interest in these noisy places; he just wanted to find a quiet corner, have a glass of strong liquor, and warm himself up.

He drove his motorcycle into the most secluded and narrowest cobblestone alley.

There were no streetlights in the alley, only a few broken red lanterns hanging under the eaves of the old wooden houses on both sides, swaying precariously in the wind and rain.

Jiang Ye drove all the way to the very end of the alley before finally stopping.

In front of an old house whose facade was almost collapsing, a rickety wooden sign hung precariously. The paint on the sign had mostly peeled off, and four characters could barely be made out: "Nameless Person".

This is a small bar.

Jiang Ye parked his motorcycle under the eaves, took a long stride, and got off. He took off his rain-soaked helmet, shook his wet hair, and pushed open the heavy wooden door.

"Squeak—"

Jiang Ye walked into the bar, accompanied by the scraping sound of old door hinges.

This place is a completely different world from the commercial street outside. There are no deafening bass speakers, no chaotic dance floors, and no scantily clad saleswomen.

The bar was small and dimly lit, with a strong smell of old wood and cheap alcohol in the air.

Behind the bar, there was a man standing.

He was a middle-aged man who looked to be in his forties, with messy hair like a bird's nest and a face covered in unkempt stubble. He wore a faded denim shirt, and his eyes were as weary as a dry well, as if filled with untold stories.

Upon hearing the door open, the boss merely raised his eyelids and glanced at Jiang Ye indifferently. He didn't say the cliché "Welcome," but instead continued to lower his head and slowly wipe the glass in his hand with a white cloth.

Jiang Ye walked to the bar and pulled out a high stool to sit down.

His leather jacket was still dripping water, which quickly pooled on the floor into a small puddle.

"The strongest whiskey, without ice." Jiang Ye's voice sounded a little hoarse from the long ride and being soaked in the rain.

Without a word, the boss turned around and took a bottle of unlabeled foreign liquor from the wine rack behind him. He took out a clean antique glass, poured it to the brim, and pushed it in front of Jiang Ye.

The amber liquid shimmered with a captivating glow under the dim light.

Jiang Ye picked up his glass, didn't even flinch, tilted his head back, and gulped down the strong liquor in one go!

"hiss--"

A burning sensation instantly spread from his mouth to his stomach, as if he had swallowed a raging fire. The liquor was extremely strong, pungent and spicy, but it suited Jiang Ye's current appetite perfectly. Only this intense stimulation could make him temporarily forget the pain in his heart.

The boss looked at Jiang Ye's reckless drinking and a hint of surprise flashed in his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure.

He turned around, took a clean, dry towel from under the counter, and silently handed it to Jiang Ye.

Jiang Ye paused for a moment, took the towel, and wiped the rain off his face.

Thanks.

"You're welcome." The boss's voice was equally low and hoarse.

The two were separated by a bar counter, and neither of them spoke again.

Outside the door, a fierce storm raged, with thunder and lightning; inside, dim lighting and strong liquor filled the air.

A tacit understanding and a sense of loneliness, unique to men, quietly spread through the air. They were both men who had been brutally battered by life; they didn't need to confide in each other. A glance, a glass of strong liquor, was enough for them to understand each other's inner suffering.

Jiang Ye pushed the empty glass over, and the boss understood and refilled it for him.

After a few glasses of strong liquor, Jiang Ye's body finally warmed up, but his brain began to feel slightly hot. The alcohol numbed his senses and amplified the emotions he had been forcibly suppressing deep within him.

He turned his head, his gaze sweeping across the corner of the bar.

There, a wooden guitar stood quietly.

The guitar was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the strings were rusty, indicating that it hadn't been played in a long time.

Jiang Ye's eyes flickered slightly.

Before meeting Shen Qinghan and founding Kunlun Capital, he was a poor boy who loved music. Back then, his biggest dream was to wander the world with his guitar. But later, in order to give Shen Qinghan a stable home and to satisfy that woman's ever-growing appetite, he put down his guitar, put on a suit, and plunged headlong into the cruel business world.

Now, he has a fortune of hundreds of billions, but he has lost himself and his love.

Jiang Ye stood up, walked unsteadily to the corner, and grabbed the dusty guitar.

He casually wiped the dust off the guitar with his sleeve, then picked it up and sat back down on the bar stool in front of the bar.

The boss stopped wiping the cup and looked at him quietly.

Jiang Ye lowered his head and plucked a string with his slender fingers.

"Zheng—"

The rusty strings produced a slightly dry sound. Jiang Ye skillfully turned the tuning pegs, quickly adjusting the tone.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

In his mind, Shen Qinghan's cold and indifferent face, Xia Yu's ambitious and calculating eyes, and the ugly faces of those who cheated and deceived each other in the business world flashed by like scenes from a movie.

Jiang Ye's fingers swept across the strings with a sudden burst!

A poignant yet powerful chord resonated throughout the quiet bar.

He approached the microphone, his voice hoarse, and sang an old song.

"Unable to find redemption, unable to find a way home..."

"Having crossed the hills, though my hair has turned white..."

"Incessant chatter, a sorrow that feels like time is running out..."

Jiang Ye's voice isn't perfect; in fact, it sounds somewhat rough due to smoking and drinking. But it's precisely this rough, smoky voice that gives the song a soul-stirring power!

His songs are filled with the heart-wrenching pain of being betrayed by the one he loves most, the utter disappointment with this hypocritical world, and the endless vicissitudes of life after experiencing countless trials and tribulations and seeing through the coldness and warmth of human relationships.

He wasn't singing a song; he was singing about his own life, riddled with problems!

The owner behind the bar was completely stunned.

The rag in his hand fell to the ground, and he froze on the spot as if he had been frozen in place. Listening to Jiang Ye's piercing singing, the boss's eyes, which were as dry as a well, actually welled up with tears.

He thought of his ex-wife who ran off with someone else because he was poor, of his relatives whom he had spent all his savings on medical treatment but still couldn't keep, and of his life's wasted potential.

Two streams of murky tears silently slid down the boss's stubble-covered face.