Chapter 65: Never To Meet In This Lifetime
This translation is originally posted on https://love4baihe.blogspot.com please read it there. and check out other stories too.
No one can deceive themselves, not even her.
Wen Ruoxian knew that she liked Song Qingluo.
Perhaps it began from the first time she blushed because of Song Qingluo, or perhaps from the time she risked danger with an iron rod for Song Qingluo, or maybe from seeing Song Qingluo stand on the stage. It was when she dreamed of Qingluo again and again, and when she cared about Qingluo calling others “Jiejie" in the game...
Countless moments, countless details.
This feeling did not come about hastily.
She realized too late that the image of her white moonlight had long since faded. Just like today, she easily forgot the matcha flavor and deeply remembered the chocolate flavor.
Time really does take everything away, even things once deeply etched in memory.
She suddenly realized that she was always a step behind, always slower than others, and always passive. She never actively fought for anything and just lost it directly.
In the end, she only moved herself.
If only she had the chance to talk to Qingluo...
A sense of shame surged up, and Wen Ruoxian heard again in her ear the words, “Every second I look at you makes me sick!” The thought of finding someone was like a spark, faintly igniting, flickering on and off.
If she continued to be passive, she would fall into the cycle of the past.
The taste of repeating old mistakes was even more unpleasant.
She took out her phone to check the calendar. The day after tomorrow would be the weekend. She remembered that in the past, every Saturday afternoon, Qingluo would go to her friend's motorcycle club to hang out... If she couldn't see her at the concert, maybe she could at the club?
….
Saturday was a hot day.
After lunch, Wen Ruoxian hurried to the Lingyi club. When she arrived at the entrance, she saw only two or three cars parked outside and was unsure if Qingluo had come.
She waited in the car.
She waited for almost two hours.
The sun shifted, and a deep engine roar came from the distance. The familiar bright red motorcycle drew closer—Song Qingluo approached the gate on a Ducati, wearing a tank top and hot pants, only with a helmet and wrist guards.
The helmet was not her birthday gift.
After parking the motorcycle, she eagerly removed her helmet to let her head breathe, with stray hairs sticking to her forehead from the thin sweat. It was very hot, and she couldn't stay outside for even a moment. She fanned herself with her hand and jogged inside, disappearing around the front desk corner.
In a flash, it was back to the night of her birthday last year, the first time she saw this bright red motorcycle.
Later was the day she cried from being frightened.
[Then, would you like to be my forever 'mudguard'?]
[What does that mean?]
[It means being the passenger on my motorcycle.]
[Okay.]
Qingluo said that the passenger seat of this motorcycle only carried her.
Wen Ruoxian stared at the door, feeling a bit hesitant. Having arrived here, she imagined the scene after they met but suddenly grew nervous.
What to say, what could be said, and whether she would anger Qingluo again were all unknowns.
She gathered her courage, got off the car, hesitated for a moment at the entrance, and then slowly walked inside. She explained her purpose to the front desk and then fixed her gaze on the stairs.
The receptionist picked up the phone and dialed.
On the second floor, in the office, Song Qingluo and Shi Chuning were looking at new parts. Shi Chuning answered a call and turned to Song Qingluo: “Ahem, um… someone is looking for you.”
“Who?”
“Wen Ruoxian.”
Hearing that name, Song Qingluo felt a ripple in her heart. Surprise flashed in her eyes, but then her expression darkened. She gritted her teeth and said, “I don’t want to see her.”
“Alright.”
Shi Chuning made a note of it, hung up the phone, and patted Song Qingluo on the shoulder. “Does she often come looking for you like this?”
Song Qingluo fiddled with the parts in her hand. “No.”
“So what does this mean then? It doesn’t seem like she’s stalking.”
“I don’t want to know what she means. I’m not interested. I don’t care.”
“Got it.”
“Let’s go. Join up with them.”
The two left the office, with Song Qingluo leading the way, walking fast and taking big strides. Once downstairs, she scanned the lobby and looked a bit dejected.
“Why are you walking so fast?” Shi Chuning hurried to catch up.
Song Qingluo quickly slowed her pace and said nonchalantly, “Don’t keep Qi-jie and the others waiting. As promised, I’ll be the one to ride the first lap today...” She said this while pushing open the lobby door and stepping outside.
The scorching hot air hit her face.
Under the blazing sun, Wen Ruoxian stood under the eaves, her long hair casually pinned up, wearing a plain and simple dress. Her figure was elegant and graceful, like a pure and serene white lotus.
Song Qingluo froze.
She was still here.
She hadn’t left.
“Qingluo...” Wen Ruoxian smiled, took a couple of steps forward, then shifted her gaze to Shi Chuning, giving a nod before eagerly returning her attention to Song Qingluo.
Song Qingluo regained her composure and forced a smile. “What a coincidence, President Wen. Here to buy a motorcycle?”
Last time, it was for a concert.
Knowing she was being sarcastic, Wen Ruoxian gave a bitter smile. “No, I came to find you... Can we talk privately?”
She glanced at Shi Chuning.
Shi Chuning frowned and looked Wen Ruoxian up and down, a trace of faint disdain in her eyes. She then turned to Song Qingluo, silently warning her to be cautious of being PUA'ed.
Song Qingluo was hesitant, and felt she couldn't save face—she had just said she wasn’t interested and didn’t care.
Wouldn’t talking privately be a slap in the face?
“I don’t want to talk.” She gave Wen Ruoxian a cold glance and walked forward without looking back.
Watching her resolute figure, Wen Ruoxian’s heart sank. She no longer dared to follow, even to call out. Her hand reached out only to retract.
[Every second I look at you makes me sick!]
….
Afraid that she might regret walking slowly, Song Qingluo quickened her pace, walked out the door, and got on her motorcycle.
She thought that Wen Ruoxian might chase after her.
But only Shi Chuning followed behind.
“…”
She fumbled and dawdled while wearing the helmet, arranging her hair for a while. She listened carefully to the sounds inside the courtyard wall but only heard Shi Chuning's worried voice: "Is your hair stuck?"
"No..."
She pretended to be calm as she put on her wrist guards, feeling sulky inside.
What does that old-fashioned mean?
She came to find her but couldn’t persist.
Someone who truly wants to talk wouldn't give up easily.
Song Qingluo felt worse and worse as she thought about it. Without waiting for Shi Chuning, she started the bike and drove out.
"Hey, wait for me."
….
The motorcycle enthusiasts were racing on the suburban track. Originally, Song Qingluo had only planned to make an appearance and join in the fun. However, after seeing Wen Ruoxian, she was filled with emotions and felt unsatisfied if she didn't release them. She took first place in all three rounds of the slalom race.
This translation is originally posted on https://love4baihe.blogspot.com please read it there. and check out other stories too.
The fuel tank felt hot even through her gloves.
She was sweating profusely and was about to chug the ice-cold mineral water when she suddenly recalled Wen Ruoxian's nagging in her ear: don't drink ice water immediately after intense exercise, as it’s bad for your health.
"Baby, you're quite fierce today," Shi Chuning said, holding a fan to cool her down.
Song Qingluo smiled but didn't say anything.
"I guess you're thinking about her."
“…”
"I also guess that you're definitely regretting it now. You should have agreed to have a private chat with her this afternoon," Shi Chuning said, pinching her fingertips like a fortune-teller.
"You want to know what she wants to talk to you about."
Having her thoughts exposed, Song Qingluo felt both embarrassed and amused. She raised her hands in surrender and said, "Alright, I can't hide it from you."
"Ahem."
"I do regret it a bit, but what's done is done. I won't go back to find her..." As she spoke, her voice grew softer, and she turned her face to the other side.
“Do as you say.”
Shi Chuning led her to the rest area and handed her a bottle of non-iced water, changing the topic. "Have the procedures been sorted out?"
Song Qingluo twisted the cap open, took a couple of sips, and said, "Almost, just in the next couple of days."
Arthur's tour was starting at the end of the month, and arrangements had already been made for her to transition with her management company. She would go over half a month early, leaving time for handling procedures, so mid-August would be sufficient. She had about a week left before she would leave Jiangcheng.
In this city, the sunlight had been basked in by Wen Ruoxian, and the air had been breathed by Wen Ruoxian. Every corner held the shadows of Wen Ruoxian.
She wasn't running away.
By evening, when she returned to the club, Wen Ruoxian was nowhere to be seen, inside or out. The plain long dress under the scorching sun seemed like nothing more than an illusory breeze from a dream.
Song Qingluo felt gloomy and declined her friends' invitation to dinner, choosing to go home alone.
As soon as she stepped through the door, she received a call from Sun Yiren—
"Qingluo, check the group chat quickly. The higher-ups posted a document, and it feels like it's aimed at you," Sun Yiren said urgently.
"Ah? Oh."
She calmly hung up the phone, her slightly furrowed brow showing a hint of impatience.
In the orchestra's internal group chat, Vice Captain Guo Chen had forwarded a link. When she clicked it, it redirected to an article on the orchestra's official account. The title, in large, bold black characters, was very eye-catching: “Various Instructions On Cleaning Up The Atmosphere And Rectifying Discipline.”
“…”
Without needing to read carefully, she already knew what it was about.
Song Qingluo forced herself to look through it.
After finishing, she took a deep breath, feeling as if an invisible hand was gripping her throat.
The notice clearly stated that from August 6th onward, for every performance, all orchestra members, regardless of gender, must wear black suits. Light hair colors would not be allowed, nor would wearing exaggerated jewelry. The inspection team would conduct daily checks... One rule after another seemed to be directed at her.
First, her edited video was reposted, causing a public uproar, and then the higher-ups became furious. She needed to lie low for a while.
There must be a connection between the two events.
"Heh."
Song Qingluo sneered, not bothering to read the rest of the official nonsense. She exited the link and, on a whim, left the group chat as well.
Appearances were valued above all.
What nonsense!
She sent a voice message to Sun Yiren: "Why did they suddenly start cracking down on this?"
"I heard someone report to the higher-ups, saying our orchestra deliberately created a buzz with vulgar appearances to attract audiences, losing sight of what's important. Maybe it's because of that video from a while ago..." Sun Yiren's voice was low, as if afraid of being overheard.
As Song Qingluo listened, she walked into the piano room.
Did they really think she couldn't leave this orchestra?
After staying for so long, there was nothing new or exciting; instead, things only became more restrictive. The enthusiasm she had when she first arrived had long been worn down. She had tolerated them causing trouble for her multiple times, but enduring this again would be cruel to herself.
Suddenly, she felt utterly exhausted. Looking at the walls covered in honor medals and the cabinets filled with gold and silver trophies, which were supposed to shine brightly, now seemed tainted with mud and infested with bugs, muddled and dirty.
She walked to the desk, opened the violin case, and gently touched the ancient violin.
This violin was crafted by the renowned Italian maker Stradivari in the eighteenth century and has been passed down for nearly three hundred years. On her 18th birthday, her mother bought it at an auction for five million dollars as a coming-of-age gift.
It had accompanied her for over eight years, attending countless performances and earning numerous honors.
This place was unworthy of it.
And unworthy of her.
….
Song Qingluo wrote an email to Director Yang:
[Effective today, I am unilaterally terminating the cooperation agreement with the Jiangcheng Symphony Orchestra. I will pay the breach of contract penalty of 500,000 as stipulated in the contract, which is expected to be processed within seven working days.]
In just a few brief sentences, she sent the email and felt free the moment it was dispatched. For her, the 500,000 was merely pocket change, insignificant and painless.
When she chose to stay initially, she hadn't given it much thought. Now that she chose to leave, she did so decisively.
Within forty-eight hours of sending the email, Song Qingluo received five phone calls from Director Yang. The man initially tried to persuade her with kind words, then offered conditions, and finally begged. She remained resolute and unmoved.
True departure has never come with a lot of fanfare.
When the other orchestra members learned of her departure, they expressed regret and suggested one final group dinner. Song Qingluo did not agree and instead took Sun Yiren out for a meal.
"Yiren-jie, thank you for taking care of me over the past year, especially when I first arrived and had trouble adjusting. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have adapted so quickly..." She filled both her own and Sun Yiren's glasses with wine, holding out the glass to her.
Sun Yiren drank it cheerfully, her face still wearing a gentle smile but with an added hint of joy in her eyes. The usually reserved Sun Yiren rarely showed such outward emotion, appearing happier than when she received awards.
"I only did what I should have. There are so few girls in our orchestra. Since you came along, talented and beautiful, of course, I had to take good care of you," Sun Yiren said.
Her smiling eyes were deeply inscrutable.
"But you’re leaving just because of those ridiculous rules? Isn't that letting them off too easily? I feel a bit resentful on your behalf."
Song Qingluo scoffed, "You overestimate them. Those old fossils with their narrow-minded, outdated ideas are hardly worth my concern. No, I didn’t consider them at all. My relationship with the orchestra was purely utilitarian. I came back just to play around. Now that I’m bored, and the place has no value left, why stay? It would just go moldy."
As she spoke, disdain showed in her eyes.
Her contemptuous expression and mocking demeanor seemed to Sun Yiren to be filled with an air of superiority.
Even when leaving, one must still look down upon others.
She had once said that no one could force her out of the orchestra unless she chose to leave. Now that statement had come true, and the result was expected by Sun Yiren—
Making Song Qingluo make a mistake to get kicked out didn’t work, so the approach was changed to make the orchestra environment unsuitable for her, prompting her to leave voluntarily.
This time, it succeeded.
Four ounces moved a thousand pounds*.
*A small effort achieved a great result.
"True, moving trees die, moving people live. What's most important is to be happy," Sun Yiren said, hiding the sparkle in her eyes, pouring more wine, and raising her glass.
Song Qingluo, seemingly oblivious, cheerfully clinked glasses with her. "Exactly. Yiren-jie, you don’t need to settle for less. Your resume is so impressive; you can definitely try for a bigger stage. If you’re unhappy here in the future, come find me. There will be plenty of opportunities."
"Okay."
….
On the eve of her departure across the ocean, Song Qingluo spent the night at home with her mother.
The next morning, she got into the car heading to the airport. In her pocket were two necklaces, their metal feeling cold against her palm. She couldn't help but take them out occasionally to glance at them.
One was of Wen Ruoxian wearing glasses, and the other of her playing the violin.
Faint, blurry images flashed before her eyes.
The cold, serious Wen Ruoxian under the streetlight that night of their reunion; Wen Ruoxian working earnestly at the desk in the study; Wen Ruoxian blushing from her teasing; Wen Ruoxian biting her lip to keep from making a sound...
The Wen Ruoxian she had loved for six years.
Ahead, crossing the intersection, was the entrance to Marina Bay Community. Song Qingluo told the driver, "Stop here."
The car slowed down and came to a gradual stop by the side of the road.
Having not been here for over a month, the place was unchanged yet felt both familiar and unfamiliar. Song Qingluo leaned on the window, gazing outside, only seeing the shadow of the building from the bottom up, eighteen floors high.
Today was a weekend.
Ruoxian should have woken up by now, making breakfast while listening to German news, a language she couldn’t understand.
After breakfast, she would start reading.
She might read all day or handle work in between.
Sometimes, if she found it too boring and couldn't stay, she would insist on going out. But it would only be to quiet places, like museums or art exhibitions.
Or they would go for a ride on the motorcycle.
Since the day she had been frightened to tears, the bike had never gone fast again.
She missed her.
What did she want to discuss that day?
An apology? Or…
Song Qingluo suddenly jolted awake, realizing she was still daydreaming and holding onto hope.
Just go, she told herself. Once you leave, you won’t think about it. Even though she knew she would return in the future, she had to treat it as a final farewell.
Never to meet again in this lifetime.
