Spring Night Kiss.

Song Qingjia walked along the bluestone path.

The Pingtan (storytelling and ballad singing) hall is located on a back street, built along the river. It has a wooden structure, and you can see the water just by opening the window.

When she arrived, Zhou Yunqing was not in the office. Her apprentice said that Teacher Zhou had gone to the back alley to get something and asked her to wait a while.

Song Qingjia responded and walked around the office twice. Several pipa were hanging on the wall, and in the corner was one that hadn't been put away in its case. The body of the instrument was shiny, and it was clear that it was often played.

She picked it up and sat down.

My fingertips touched the strings; it felt familiar.

He began by playing "Yingying Playing the Qin".

The piece wasn't long, and she played it slowly, her fingering a little awkward, but the essence of the piece was still there.

As the last note faded, the door was pushed open.

Zhou Yunqing stood at the door, carrying a bag of loquats. She was a woman in her early fifties, well-maintained, with gentle features.

"Finished playing?" She came in and placed the loquat on the table. "You haven't lost the basics, but you've gotten rusty."

Song Qingjia put down her pipa, stood up, and hugged her: "Aunt Zhou."

Zhou Yunqing patted her back and pulled her to sit down on the sofa: "Don't you practice usually?"

"I've been busy with work and haven't touched it in a long time."

Zhou Yunqing looked at her and sighed, "Why did you have to choose aerodynamics as your major in college? I'm an old lady, and I just don't understand it. Can't a girl just live a more relaxed life?"

Song Qingjia smiled but didn't reply.

"You have a talent for Pingtan," Zhou Yunqing said with a hint of regret. "Of all the students I've taught over the years, you are the best one."

"Aunt Zhou, I'm still doing things related to sound," Song Qingjia said. "I listen to the airflow in the wind tunnel and the wind noise on the racetrack every day."

"How can that be the same?" Zhou Yunqing rolled her eyes at her, peeled a loquat, and handed it to her.

Song Qingjia took it, took a bite, and found it sweet.

"How is your mother doing lately?" Zhou Yunqing asked.

Song Qingjia slowed down her chewing of the loquat and remained silent.

Zhou Yunqing looked at her, her gaze knowing, and still offered a word of advice: "Back then... she was indeed wrong. But no matter what, she's your mother, you should still contact her."

Song Qingjia spat the loquat pit into a tissue and said in a faint voice, "Mm."

Zhou Yunqing knew her temper and didn't press the matter further.

While we were in silence, there was a sudden, urgent knock on the door.

A young woman pushed open the door, her face pale: "Teacher Zhou, something terrible has happened. Sister Lin has acute gastroenteritis and can't go on stage. The show is supposed to start in twenty minutes."

Zhou Yunqing frowned: "Isn't Xiao He still here?"

"Xiao He twisted her finger last week and it's still not healed. Today's performance is a reception for the Culture and Tourism Bureau, and all the people sitting in the audience are leaders. We can't afford any mistakes." The girl was almost crying with anxiety. "I've asked around, but no one can go on stage."

Zhou Yunqing frowned, her gaze sweeping around the office before settling on Song Qingjia.

His eyes lit up.

"Qingjia, you go."

Song Qingjia was taken aback: "Me?"

"You studied for over ten years when you were young, so your foundation is there. How about playing a short piece? 'Autumn Thoughts' or 'Beautiful Taihu Lake', no singing required, just playing."

"Aunt Zhou, I'm not very good at this—"

"Even though you're not very skilled, you're still better than most people." Zhou Yunqing stood up, pulled her outside, and said, "A rescue is like putting out a fire; give it a try."

Song Qingjia was taken backstage, where she had her makeup and hair done briefly, and then picked up her pipa.

The audience was packed.

She took a deep breath and sat down.

Start.

When she played the first note, she was a little nervous. But by the third phrase, her fingers came back to life on their own.

Muscle memory, developed over a decade, is more reliable than what the brain remembers.

The piece "Beautiful Taihu Lake" was played with effortless grace. At the end, a final strum of the fingertips left a lingering, melodious sound.

Applause erupted from the audience.

Zhou Yunqing, standing on the side stage, smiled and nodded.

Song Qingjia stepped off the stage, his back slightly sweaty.

"It's alright." Zhou Yunqing handed her a bottle of water. "It's a bit worse than when you were a kid, but it's enough to fool people."

Song Qingjia took a sip of water and smiled.

"Are you free for the next few days?" Zhou Yunqing asked. "Linlin's gastroenteritis will take several days to recover, and Xiao He's hand isn't healed either. If it's convenient for you, could you cover for me for a few days?"

Song Qingjia glanced at her.

"Just play short pieces, two sessions a day, twenty minutes each time." Zhou Yunqing patted her shoulder, "Just to help Aunt Zhou out."

"Okay," Song Qingjia replied.

She loves Suzhou storytelling, otherwise she wouldn't have studied it for over a decade. Today, after her first performance, I was truly left wanting more.

Zhou Yunqing smiled and nodded, pulling her outside: "Come on, let's go home for dinner, the pickled dumplings are ready."

We had dinner at Zhou Yunqing's house: braised pork with bamboo shoots, stir-fried shrimp, and a dish of shepherd's purse with dried tofu. The two of us ate and chatted, and then drank a cup of tea.

-

By the time Song Qingjia returned to the resort by taxi, it was almost nine o'clock.

The lobby of the resort was brightly lit.

She walked in, her high heels clicking crisply on the marble floor.

The reception desk is on the right, the tea room is on the left, and the elevator leading to the guest rooms is further inside.

Song Qingjia walked towards the elevator.

Xu Zhouye was leaning against a pillar by the entrance to the teahouse, smoking.

He had just returned from the hot springs, changed into a light dark gray shirt with the collar slightly open, and his hair was still damp.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a figure.

The woman in the indigo cheongsam and white jade hairpin was someone I met that morning.

A fleeting glimpse of her profile reveals a high, straight nose, a sharp jawline, and long eyelashes.

Xu Zhouye paused, his hand holding the cigarette still.

That outline.

The slight curve of that chin.

It's so similar, so incredibly similar.

Like that woman who looked up and groaned uncontrollably under the dim light that night.

He stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray and strode after him.

"Wait a moment."

The lobby was completely empty.

The elevator doors were slowly closing.

He ran over, reached out and blocked the door, and it reopened.

There was no one inside.

Xu Zhouye stood at the elevator entrance, his chest heaving, his face darkening.

He took out his phone and sent Lu Yanbai a message:

[Check the lobby security footage immediately.]

In the monitoring room.

Lu Yanbai stared at the monitor screen, his eyes almost closed.

"This is the eleventh time, bro."

Xu Zhouye ignored him and dragged the progress bar back.

In the scene, at the corner of the corridor, only half of the frame is captured. A glimpse of an indigo-blue hem flashes by, like a leaf caught in the wind, and then it's gone.

The angle was too tricky; she only showed herself for a moment, and her face wasn't even captured in the photo.

"I already told you, you're seeing things." Lu Yanbai yawned. "I think you're just hallucinating from being cooped up for the past few days. Can't you go to sleep early?"

Xu Zhouye stared at the screen for another two seconds before finally closing the laptop.

"sleep."

He went back to his room without looking back, closed the door, and lay down.

When you close your eyes, you see that profile.

She really looks like her.

He turned over and buried his face in the pillow.

She came to me in my dream.

She was still wearing that black dress, the straps slipping down to her arms, revealing a glimpse of her collarbone. She sat on the windowsill, the moonlight shining from behind her, like a fairy untouched by the world.

Xu Zhouye walked over, and she looked up at him. Her eyes were still wet, glistening with tears, making her look pitiful.

"Who are you?" he asked.

She didn't answer, but grabbed the man's collar and kissed him.

Her lips were soft, and they tasted of alcohol. Her hand climbed onto his shoulder, her nails lightly scraping the back of his neck, just like that night.

Their breaths mingled.

He pushed her skirt up, his fingers tracing down her waistline. She didn't flinch, but moved closer to him, pressing even more tightly against him.

She bit his lip and mumbled something, which Xu Zhouye didn't hear clearly.

He lifted her legs...

She let out a soft, sticky moan, unable to contain herself.

He leaned down, his forehead touching hers—

Suddenly, all the images disappeared.

woke up.