I don’t listen to garbage music! 😠

Driven by the adolescent fantasy that a single fingerstyle melody would send girls vying for his affection, Fan Jian had once purchased the guitar.

Now, however, the instrument was an eyesore no matter where it lay.

He rummaged through the clutter on the balcony for an eternity before finally unearthing the dust-laden guitar.

‘Honestly, Pei, isn’t it enough that you charm girls with your looks alone? Now you’re dabbling in musical talents too? Are you even going to leave us mere mortals a chance?’ Fan Jian grumbled, a bitter edge to his voice, clearly resenting Pei Xingyan’s unfair advantage.

Pei Xingyan offered no reply.

Instead, his fingers glided across the strings with a soft strum, allowing a set of melodious chords to resonate and fill the dormitory air.

The cheap guitar was woefully out of tune, its notes jarring and inaccurate.

A discerning musician would undoubtedly find the sound grating, a sensation that would prickle their skin, send their blood pressure soaring, and perhaps even provoke a fit of coughing or worse.

Yet, this was precisely the effect he intended to create.

He lowered his gaze, his fingers tentatively plucking a short, experimental passage.

A profound silence descended upon the dormitory, the earlier grumbling having vanished entirely.

Fan Jian, having completely shifted his demeanor, now hunched before Pei Xingyan, his face contorted into an obsequious grin.

‘Brother Pei, could you perhaps show me a trick or two?’ His face crumpled into a network of wrinkles, an expression that could only be described as utterly fawning.

When Pei Xingyan remained silent, Fan Jian escalated his terms of address with increasing desperation.

‘Brother Pei? Adoptive Father Pei? Grandfather Pei? Please, I beg you, teach your younger brother! I’m twenty-one and haven’t even held a girl’s hand – I’m truly desperate, I implore you!’

Pei Xingyan felt a strong urge to inform him that mastering a musical instrument held no correlation whatsoever with romantic success; in fact, excelling at it might even condemn one to lifelong bachelorhood.

Alas, Fan Jian possessed his own peculiar theories about love, rendering any attempts at dissuasion utterly futile.

Conveniently, Pei Xingyan found himself in need of an accomplice.

With a theatrical, self-satisfied flick of his hair, he then adopted a profoundly enigmatic air as he laid out his terms.

‘Very well, then. I shall demonstrate a technique for you first. Be sure to record the video, and afterwards, you may begin to learn from it on your own.’

‘Yes, yes, absolutely, Grandfather Pei, you are truly my own flesh and blood brother!’ Fan Jian babbled incoherently, his discernment for seniority proving even less reliable than a coin-operated ride outside a shopping mall, as he continued his endless stream of chatter.

Nevertheless, he did not entirely neglect the actual task, promptly retrieving his phone to begin recording Pei Xingyan.

‘Why are you filming me? Focus on my hands! You’re not planning to watch my video under your blankets tonight, are you?’

‘Oh, oh, I apologize…’

When Fan Jian acquired his guitar, his mind had been entirely preoccupied with the pursuit of women, leading him to select a classical guitar — an instrument utterly ill-suited for accompanying vocals.

Thus, Pei Xingyan delicately played a segment of a renowned classical piece: Debussy’s ‘Clair de Lune’.

The selection was perfectly suited for the classical guitar cradled in his arms, and coincidentally, it was the very same melody Lin Xiaoyu had been practicing moments before.

‘Ponder it for a few days on your own, then we can discuss it further. And remember to send me that video.’ Having concluded his performance, Pei Xingyan handed back the guitar, pressing for the urgently needed video file.

However, Fan Jian, who had moments ago been so utterly submissive, instantly reverted to his usual demeanor, reclaiming every ounce of verbal deference he had just yielded.

‘Alright, little brother Pei, understood, little brother Pei. I won’t hinder your video posturing, little brother Pei. I’ll even give it a like on your Moments, little brother Pei.’

Pei Xingyan offered a benign smile, a silent promise forming in his mind: he would ensure this fellow faced a truly humbling experience when, in a couple of days, he still hadn’t grasped the slightest notion of how to properly play the piece.

He then climbed onto his bed, drew the privacy curtain, and formally commenced his session of ‘mental therapy.’

Fan Jian promptly sent over the video he had recorded, and Pei Xingyan, donning his headphones, listened in quiet contemplation.

Just as he had anticipated, the video compression distorted the already harsh and unpleasant timbre of the cheap guitar, transforming its sound into something utterly agonizing for any discerning ear.

Furthermore, he had intentionally introduced several wrong notes, meticulously crafting opportunities for Lin Xiaoyu to express her displeasure.

He then opened the [Sweetheart App] (TL Note: A play on the name Tang Xin, meaning ‘sweet heart’ or ‘candy heart’), an application he dared not let others glimpse, and located his sole contact within it.

While the chat interface was somewhat rudimentary, it boasted a full array of functions, including video transmission and file sending.

He found himself admiring Tang Xin, who had single-handedly developed such an application — a feat truly befitting her status as a top student in computer science.

She had even refined it further: the app now displayed the chat partner’s nickname.

He surmised that Miss Tang Xin, upon her return, was once again diligently toiling away in pursuit of her pecuniary aspirations.

This was a positive development, and it spurred him to redouble his own efforts.

Lin Xiaoyu had chosen a nickname for herself: [Little Raindrop].

‘Little Raindrop… ha…’

The somewhat quaint and old-fashioned username offered him a subtle, yet deeper, glimpse into the girl’s character.

A wry smile touched his lips as he began to type, his chosen words imbued with a deliberate caution:

[—Uh… thank you so much for comforting me, but I just remembered that you’re actually the one seeking the service, aren’t you?—]

[—It wouldn’t be right for you to keep comforting me.—]

[—Allow me to play a piece for you; I hope it might bring you some cheer.—]

Immediately afterwards, he dispatched the video.

Lin Xiaoyu did not respond to his message at once, likely engrossed in her piano practice at that very moment.

Instead, it was Tang Xin who broke the silence.

Much like a genuine assistant, she reported the app’s latest upgrade and mentioned that she had successfully secured another client, hinting at the possibility of new business within a couple of days.

Pei Xingyan mused on how the fervent desire for money truly spurred diligence.

He casually offered a few words of effusive praise, profoundly gratifying Tang Xin’s vanity, so much so that her buoyant spirits seemed to radiate even through the digital screen, utterly impossible to conceal.

Once the conversation concluded, the silence behind Pei Xingyan’s bed curtain once again deepened.

He lay there, staring vacantly upwards, as still and lifeless as a corpse.

****

It was only much later that a message from Lin Xiaoyu finally shattered this profound silence.

Pei Xingyan unlocked his screen, only to be met immediately with a scathing review.

[–Little Raindrop: Horrible music! Utter trash! It makes me want to throw up! Please, never send me anything like this again, alright?!–]

Perhaps she had just been practicing that very piece, enduring a severe reprimand, or perhaps Pei Xingyan’s perfectly executed wrong notes had simply pushed her beyond endurance.

Whatever the reason, it was abundantly clear that she harbored a genuine animosity towards the composition, even resorting to such venomous words.

Yet, this was precisely the outcome Pei Xingyan desired; he harbored no illusions of healing a girl wounded by music through the very same medium.

A reply, crafted with an even more pitiful tone, was then tapped out from his fingertips:

[–I’m so, so sorry!–]

[–I know my playing isn’t good, and I don’t even have a decent instrument.–]

[–But this was the piece my parents loved most when they were alive. Whenever they felt weary, they would ask me to play it for them. They always told me I played beautifully, and I truly believed everyone would feel happy hearing it…–]

[–In any case, I am truly terribly sorry for spoiling your mood!–]

A wicked smile crept across his face, for he knew that deceiving such a guileless girl was, by any measure, hardly a commendable act.

In truth, his parents were not yet deceased, though their current state was akin to living death; they might well remain incarcerated until their last breath.

Nevertheless, he still had twelve opportunities a year to visit them, though these visits necessitated shuttling between the separate men’s and women’s correctional facilities.

Despite the fabrication, the emotions he conveyed were, in fact, genuinely felt.

Prior to their incarceration, his parents had indeed enjoyed listening to him dabble in music, regardless of its quality.

Parents invariably cherished seeing their children excel, and this sentiment was particularly pronounced among affluent families.

Yet, families like Lin Xiaoyu’s, which imposed such unnaturally stringent demands upon their children, almost invariably harbored deeper, hidden circumstances…

The phone remained silent, as if Lin Xiaoyu had suddenly disconnected.

A considerable time elapsed before a response finally materialized.

Lin Xiaoyu did not reply with text this time.

Instead, she sent a voice message, her words broken and intermittent, sounding as though she were on the verge of tears.

‘I-I’m so sorry… *hic*… I didn’t mean to say those things to you, I truly am sorry… so sorry… *hic*…’

Pei Xingyan knew his calculations had been precise; the foolish girl had, once again, taken the bait.