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墨書 Inktalez
"You can say whatever you want," Tan Ming shrugged indifferently. He tried his best to appear calm, but the hand tucked in his pocket tightly clenched the piece of paper that bore only a few words.
Calm, rational—every compliment seemed to shatter into pieces. The hidden emotions buried deep within Tan Ming quietly took root and began to sprout.
It was finally Friday, a day he had long awaited. He completed all his tasks and shed the fatigue weighing on him. He was neither the class monitor nor the president; there were no incessant calls echoing in his ears.
Xu Le was still sitting in his chair, engrossed in a video game, while Zhang Yan shouted about who was next to clean up. Tan Ming took a shower and changed into a fresh, clean outfit.
As he stepped out, both Zhang Yan and Xu Le turned their heads in unison, alert. Zhang Yan habitually asked, "Class monitor, are we going this week?"
He nodded as usual. "Oh, then I want Fried Mushrooms this time."
Xu Le looked up and said, "I want Charcoal Grilled Qingjiang Fish, with medium spice."
Tan Ming agreed to all their requests.
Outside, the weather was gloomy, with heavy rain pouring down. He held an umbrella while wearing a coat, navigating through the misty rain. Tan Ming remained calm and unruffled.
He paid no attention to others and did not wish to draw attention to himself. He knew where his destination lay, and he also knew that by two-thirty in the morning, he would still have to return home.
No one knew why he was so persistent; perhaps he himself didn’t know either. But that Friday outing had become optional; he had held on for four years. His four years were like the piece of paper he clutched tightly—obscure and dark, hidden from the light.
Yan Qing's emotions came and went swiftly. Once he calmed down, he placed the violin aside and carefully packed Zhao's notebook into his backpack. If he had previously been indifferent to life and death, now he hoped to live until the end.
He wanted to take Zhao Xiang's Notebook out himself and present it to him, letting this forgotten piece of music gain worldwide recognition.
"Is this Zhao Xiang's desk?" Qi Qiuluo asked as she stood at a spot nearby.
"What are you doing?" Yan Qing asked him.
Qi Qiuluo's gaze roamed freely, curious about what made celebrities different from ordinary people like them. Zhao Xiang's desk was tidy, devoid of any clutter, save for a photo album and a small storage rack. The off-white rack held a potted green vine, thankfully unblemished, and behind it were classic dolls from the series "Zhen Huan," filling all three tiers of the shelf. It was evident that Zhao Xiang was quite addicted to palace dramas.
Qi Qiuluo casually flipped through the photo album on his desk, while Ling Xingyuan and Liu Xuanzhu climbed onto the table to join him in looking.
The first page featured a group photo from their military training in freshman year, with Zhao Xiang standing in the center, surrounded by others and smiling joyfully. At that time, Yan Qing wasn't very familiar with him, and they were positioned a bit far apart, separated by two rows.
The second page showed Zhao Xiang's back as he played the violin. The third was a photo of a cat, signed at the bottom; Qi Qiuluo guessed it was the cat's name.
The fourth page captured Zhao Xiang and Yan Qing standing in front of a black motorcycle, arms draped over each other's shoulders while wearing helmets. Both looked strikingly handsome, their smiles radiant—like models posing for a photoshoot, exuding coolness and charisma.
The fifth image was a blurry silhouette of someone hunched over with their knees drawn up, evoking a sense of hazy fragmentation.
"Is this you?" Qi Qiuluo asked Yan Qing, noticing the person's figure resembled his.
Yan Qing glanced at it and shook his head. "No."
Tan Ming also looked over; just one glance was enough for him to know it wasn't Yan Qing.
Qi Qiuluo set the album back down, losing interest in those snapshots of life. His gaze shifted to the violin hanging on the wall to the left of the door.
Before he could reach out for it, Yan Qing reminded him, "That violin costs a hundred thousand."
Qi Qiuluo cursed under his breath, feeling somewhat indignant. "Who do you think you're looking down on?"
Yan Qing sized him up and shook his head in response.
Qi Qiuluo pointed at him with his middle finger, his lips trembling as he retorted, "That violin is yours too."
He didn’t seem like a wealthy person; neither did Yan Qing appear to be one.
"It's not mine," Yan Qing said generously.
"Right," Tan Ming added.
This dormitory was nothing special aside from being struck by lightning.
"Okay then, Dai Zi!" Ling Xingyuan exclaimed as he jumped from the table onto a chair.
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