Time Keeps Flowing On

“Huh?! How could that be? Are your hands hurt?” Nai Lin blurted out, unable to hide her shock. Her voice shot up at once.

Nai Ye was shocked too, but she was even more worried about her younger sister’s recklessness. Frowning, she swatted her lightly to stop her from asking further, afraid it would make Nan Changgeng uncomfortable or upset her.

“My hands are fine. It’s for other reasons.”

Nan Changgeng didn’t go into detail. She only gave a faint smile; she didn’t seem bothered by Nai Lin’s reaction, and she didn’t seem heartbroken at the thought of being unable to play the cello.

It had been so many years. No matter how devastated she had once been, that was already in the past; the flood of time was enough to wear down everything, including pain and certain obsessions.

But some traces were probably impossible to erase completely.

Very few people knew about these things, and the two sisters could see that she didn’t want to talk, so naturally they didn’t ask.

Nan Changgeng agreeing to collaborate with them was already more than enough to satisfy them. Though it was a pity they couldn’t hear her perform the cello live, that too had become a minor matter.

After their discussion ended, the twin sisters left first. But the conversation they’d just had had already caught the others’ attention; especially with Nai Lin’s shout, even those who hadn’t been paying attention were drawn over.

The gazes in the room gradually shifted her way, carrying surprise and concern.

Nan Changgeng sensed it, but only pretended not to notice. She lowered her head and flipped through her notebook.

She sat there in quiet contentment, while her fans’ shock and heartbreak were practically about to surge through the internet cable; they only wished they could grab a little flying hero and shake her by the shoulders.

[God!!!!!!!! My sister can’t play anymore, aahhh!! Say this is fake, say it right now!! I don’t believe it!!]

[What happened, my God? No wonder Mo Lei’s reaction was off when she mentioned playing before. I’m really going to cry……]

[Help help help! I still rewatch my sister’s cello performances from time to time. Such a captivating cellist; is it really over just like that?]

[I’m breaking down… I’d rather she kept disappearing and quietly enjoying music somewhere we couldn’t see her than come back to the entertainment circle and tell me she can never play again]

[Didn’t you say the cello was half your soul? What exactly happened? I really can’t imagine how much pain you must be in. How can you still look this calm……]

A tiny practice room; harmonious and peaceful on the surface, yet countless undercurrents were surging in places beyond sight.

No one in the room noticed Yu Mao in the corner.

She maintained her original posture, like a curled-up stone, and very calmly, very slowly lifted a hand to wipe away a tear at the corner of her eye.

Nothing showed on her face; only her eyes were slightly red. She was quiet and still, and even her sadness seemed buried beneath numbness.

Listening to the cello melody flowing through her headphones, she touched the area under her nose with a finger, then blinked softly.

She knew why Nan Changgeng could no longer play the cello.

It was a memory she would never want to recall.

During that time, she had lost a lot of tails.

Yu Mao hid it well, but she couldn’t hide from the cameras. Any trace of emotion could not withstand the magnification of the lens; it was laid bare before the audience.

[Nan Changgeng, look back already… your little fan is about to fall apart]

[My girl, don’t cry, don’t cry. Wuwuwuwu, this look is too heartbreaking]

[Did she cry because she heard Sister Nan say she couldn’t play? But Nan Changgeng didn’t even react much when it was brought up. Why is she sad? Could she be some hardcore music fan?]

[That’s normal. Go look at Nan Changgeng’s livestream room; the fans are all crying, one louder than the next]

[Actually, what’s even stranger is why Yu Mao is so calm. Aside from looking a little sad, she has no other reaction at all, as if she’d known about this long ago]

[Ahhh I’m so curious. Production, hurry up and give us an interview! I want to know the story between the little cat and Nan Changgeng right now!]

The production team said they very much wanted to satisfy them, but unfortunately it was only the third day since the show had begun; such an important topic naturally had to be saved for later. For now, it should stay like a carrot dangling in front of them, visible but out of reach; only then would the audience have the drive to keep following the livestream.

Three days had passed, and the contestants had basically become familiar with their songs. They were no longer as frantic about practice as they had been in the first two days. That night, the program team held the first sports event.

In short, the contestants were split into two sides for a sports competition.

A livestream show especially needed fresh and exciting little activities to keep viewers hooked. After all, without someone they cared about, very few passersby would have the patience to watch contestants practice singing and dancing day after day.

But this activity wasn’t something the contestants could just choose to join. If all sixty people participated, the chaotic scene would be impossible to watch.

So they had to draw lots.

The activity couldn’t be held just once; anyone who drew this time would be ineligible for the next, which was fairly fair. But if you got eliminated before you had a chance to take part, then it could only be counted as bad luck.

The program team didn’t pull any tricks in the drawing. Whether someone got picked or not depended entirely on luck.

Yu Mao drew an empty slip. Her stamina was poor to begin with, and she hadn’t really wanted to participate. Drawing an empty one was exactly what she wanted.

Especially since Nan Changgeng hadn’t been selected either; she had even less reason to go.

The participating contestants left by bus, and the building became much quieter than usual.

Chen You was also one of the participants. In normal times, she was the one who stuck to Nan Changgeng the most. With her gone, Nan Changgeng felt considerably freer.

When people were bored, they paid more attention to the outside world. After dinner, she stayed in the practice room as usual, playing a few pieces and seizing any occasional flash of inspiration to write lyrics into her notebook.

Then her gaze drifted aimlessly around the room until it landed on a corner.

A pair of bright, gleaming eyes met her gaze.

“?”

A trace of confusion appeared on her face.

Why was Yu Mao still here?

She truly hadn’t paid much attention to her; she didn’t know whether Yu Mao had simply never left, or whether she had come quietly after dinner and Nan Changgeng had just failed to notice.

Nan Changgeng set down her notebook and got to her feet, walking over.

“Have you eaten dinner?”

As soon as she approached, Yu Mao straightened up at once. She tilted her head up and gave a small nod. “I have.”

She’d gone back to the dorm and drank a cup of concentrated milk.

Nan Changgeng’s eyes flashed with suspicion. She hadn’t seen Yu Mao in the cafeteria. But whether what the other girl said was true or false, she didn’t plan to pry.

She’d come over because she was getting a little worn down by being stared at. She was really afraid that if nobody stopped her, Yu Mao could stare from daybreak to nightfall, then from nightfall back to daybreak.

“Aren’t you bored staying here all the time?” Nan Changgeng crouched down a step away from her, bringing it up as if in casual conversation.

She had already thought through how to gently and tactfully suggest that Yu Mao shouldn’t keep hanging around here and should go do something else; whether Yu Mao said she was bored or not, she’d have a response ready.

But she hadn’t expected Yu Mao to ignore all normal logic and say something she didn’t even understand.

“Time keeps flowing on.”

Yu Mao looked straight at her, her eyes bright as polished black gems with every speck of dust wiped away. Her tone was strangely earnest:

“I can hear your voice.”

Nan Changgeng stared, then parted her lips in surprise.

Setting aside whatever nonsense Yu Mao was saying, she was first struck by the other girl’s gaze.

Even though their eye levels were equal, the unmistakable reverence in Yu Mao’s eyes gave Nan Changgeng the illusion that she was still looking up at her.

No one had ever shown her such an expression. Even those fanatical fans of the past, however extreme their fervor had been, were driven by madness and possessiveness pushed to the limit, not by something so… clear and pure, so devout, with the faintest hint of yearning.

But she had seen a similar look before.

Five years ago, when she traveled across the ocean, she once saw a Christian believer preaching in a square filled with pigeons. When he praised God, his expression was just as holy and sincere.

Which only made Yu Mao even harder to understand.

Unable to make sense of it, Nan Changgeng could only treat it as an illusion born from her own overactive thoughts.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” she said directly.

Yu Mao blinked and, choosing her words carefully, explained, “Only stillness becomes boring. I’m always moving forward, and I can watch you, so I won’t be bored.”

“……”

She seemed to understand a little, yet somehow felt even more lost.

Nan Changgeng knew she should ask what “stillness” meant, but she didn’t. She forced a smile and left with a simple “Alright,” feeling exhausted as she stood up to go.

She couldn’t guarantee that if she kept asking, the next thing Yu Mao said would be any easier to understand.

Rather than keep struggling with it, she might as well… let her stare, then. It wouldn’t cost her a chunk of flesh.

And so, Yu Mao was able to openly and peacefully keep watching her for another day.

The fourth day was the final day before the small test.

The weaker contestants were urgently practicing extra, the atmosphere tense and strained, while those who were confident in themselves were wandering around out of boredom.

Going from one practice room to another was already routine, so Yu Mao’s behavior didn’t seem out of place.

Whenever Yirui An wanted to find Yu Mao, she would go to the practice room of Nan Changgeng’s team and always find her there.

She had digested yesterday’s emotions and today was once again trying tirelessly to strike up conversation with Yu Mao, almost as if she were treating Yu Mao as a quest target while grinding affection points.

Unfortunately, Yu Mao was a piece of encrypted stone. If the password was entered wrong, it would never warm up in this lifetime.

If one really wanted to quantify Yu Mao’s favorability toward the contestants, it would be: Yirui An 0, Yuan Li 0, Xu Yang -10, Qi Qi -5, Lin Baiyu 0, Liu Yuanxi 0.

The others weren’t familiar.

Nan Changgeng wasn’t counted either, because it couldn’t be measured.

Yirui An still didn’t know that all her efforts so far had been in vain. She crouched beside Yu Mao, took a chocolate bar she’d stolen from Xu Yang out of her pocket, unwrapped it, and offered it to Yu Mao’s lips ingratiatingly.

“Try it. The chocolate from this brand is really good.”

Yu Mao glanced down at it, then turned her head away. “I don’t eat it.”

“Why? Don’t tell me you don’t even like chocolate!” Yirui An was on the verge of breaking down again.

Yu Mao shook her head. “I’ve never eaten it.”

Naturally, that meant she couldn’t say whether she liked it or not.

“……Huh?”

Yirui An was so shocked that her eyes went blank for a moment.

“Are you allergic to chocolate, so you can’t eat it?” she guessed from a less frightening angle.

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried these snacks before.”

Yu Mao answered absentmindedly, her gaze fixed on Nan Changgeng, watching her speak gently to comfort Chen You and tell her not to be anxious.

At times like this, Nan Changgeng always seemed very soft; in Yu Mao’s eyes, she felt like the image of a mother, carrying sanctity and mercy.

TL Note:

my sister (我姐) is an affectionate fan way of referring to an older woman, not a literal sibling.

encrypted stone (加密的石头) means someone impossible to figure out or “read.”