"..."
The slight smugness on Yun Mi's face vanished instantly, replaced by shock and disbelief. She stammered for a long time, unable to come up with a sentence that would make Chen Yiyang cry.
Chen Yiyang added, "And I haven't celebrated my birthday in a long time."
Yun Mi didn't believe him. "Really?"
Chen Yiyang countered, "Did Xie Yue give me a gift? Did he even mention it?"
It seemed he hadn't.
Yun Mi guessed the reason and asked, "Because of Aunt Wen?"
Chen Yiyang paused briefly, then gave a wry smile. "No."
Chen Yiyang said, "Because there's no need... I'll be unhappy."
Celebrating such a birthday would bring back the memories of that near-death experience.
Chen Yiyang was half a head taller than Yun Mi. He lowered his eyes and suddenly felt a warm, soft hand touch him. Yun Mi took his hand out of his pocket.
Then she stubbornly pressed the gift into his palm, warm with her body heat.
Yun Mi looked up at him and said, "Then, Chen Yiyang, from now on, celebrate your birthday with me."
Yun Mi remembered the sealed sheet music in Chen Yiyang's bookcase—a whole shelf. The pages were curled and worn. He had really loved it before.
So he would definitely like this guitar pick.
Yun Mi placed it properly, extended her hand, raised her head, and made a "6" gesture with her fingers. "Pinky swear."
The girl's breath was light, carrying the scent of white flowers. She was very close, right beside him. Chen Yiyang's throat went dry. Meeting her amber eyes, he saw Yun Mi's bright and innocent smile under the dim streetlight. Her voice rose as she said, "From now on, my birthday is your birthday, Chen Yiyang."
Chen Yiyang's heart burned. He looked down at the guitar pick.
The black guitar pick was ugly and rough.
It had a doodle of a silly rabbit, but the signature was "Mi."
Uncertain whether it came from a rabbit or a cat.
After Chen Jiashu died, he stopped playing his favorite instrument.
The calluses that had grown and peeled from repeated cuts had faded. His hands were no longer accustomed to the sharp electric guitar.
Even someone with such a good memory as him had almost forgotten how to strum the strings.
Chen Yiyang frowned slightly, his cold face calm. He lowered his eyes and silently cursed, "Little idiot."
He was forced to hook pinkies and seal the oath.
His seventeen years of life had been so short, smooth, and reckless.
For the first time, Chen Yiyang felt defeated by a girl's innocence and gentleness.
He heard distant music, crossing time, traversing space.
In the boundless night.
This pick did not strum the strings; it plucked his heartstrings.
Author's note: No additional note.