Inside the mansion, there was a room unlike any other—a music room.
Hua Jing had already explored most of the house since she woke up, and she had quickly realized that Fu Jingrong loved simplicity.
His ho was minimalistic, every room neat and uncluttered. But this one space was different.
This was a sanctuary, built for sound and emotion, with a grand white piano standing proudly in the center.
Fu Jingrong carried her into the room and gently placed her on top of an island counter that stood off to the side. Then, without a word, he walked toward the piano and lowered himself onto the bench.
Hua Jing’s eyes lit up instantly. She clapped her hands together, excitent brimming in her voice.
"Are you going to sing for ?"
Fu Jingrong only smiled, saying nothing as his long, elegant fingers brushed across the smooth keys. At first, he pressed them almost at random, but even the scattered notes carried a beauty that filled the quiet air. Then, slowly, the lody began to take shape.
Warm, rich tones flowed out of the piano, spilling into every corner of the room. The sound grew fuller, richer, until it felt as though the music itself wrapped around them like an embrace.
It was a lody both tender and heartbreaking, stirring emotions that words could never express.
Hua Jing’s heart trembled as recognition struck her. She leaned forward slightly, her voice soft, almost reverent.
"The Frost We t..."
Fu Jingrong’s eyes remained closed, his head tilting slightly as he continued to play. At her words, he gave a small nod.
That song.
It was one of his old works, a piece that had once taken the entire country by storm. The mont it was released, it swept through the charts, winning award after award.
Soon it reached far beyond the borders, chosen by international productions as their soundtrack.
It had brought him recognition on a global scale, a song that had carried his na across the world.
Fu Jingrong had only ever played this song live once. After that, never again.
No one knew why.
The lody itself was beautiful, but it carried such weight, such pain, that even listening to it felt like a knife pressing into the chest.
For Hua Jing, it was unbearable and irresistible at the sa ti.
Her heart clenched as the notes filled the room. It was as if soone had ripped open a wound inside her. Raw. Bleeding. Fragile.
She could only imagine what kind of emotions Fu Jingrong had poured into this piece when he first wrote it. He wasn’t just an actor, not just a singer—he was a musical genius. Each note seed alive, dragging with it sorrow too heavy for words.
Hua Jing closed her eyes.
The song was too familiar.
She knew the lyrics by heart. For reasons she couldn’t explain, when it had first been released, she had felt it was written for her.
But back then... things between them had already been ruined by misunderstanding. She had never dared to ask.
And so, she only listened.
Now, as his fingers moved across the keys, she felt the pull too strongly. Her lips parted, and before she realized it, her voice slipped out.
Soft. Steady. Filled with emotion.
She began to sing softly, her voice trembling as if it had been waiting for this mont all along.
"The day we t beneath the frost, ti stopped, but the mont was lost..."
Her eyes stayed closed, lashes quivering, as if she was afraid to open them and break the fragile feeling filling the room.
"Your eyes were a fla I could never forget, but winter was cruel, and our hands never t..."
Her heart squeezed painfully with each word. It wasn’t just a song anymore—it was her own emotions bleeding out. Every note, every syllable, seed to echo the unspoken years between her and Fu Jingrong.
She pressed forward, voice rising with quiet strength.
"But the seasons don’t wait, and the silence has grown. I reach for your warmth, but I’m left all alone..."
At those words, her throat tightened. Her chest burned as if sothing inside her was breaking apart. Through the lody, she could feel his pain too—the raw wound hidden beneath his perfect smile, the loneliness he carried even when the world cheered his na.
She knew this wasn’t just a song. It was him. It was everything he had been unable to say.
Her own voice wavered, but she kept going, pouring herself into the lody as if to soothe both his sorrow and her own.
Her voice softened again, almost a whisper, as if she was afraid of the truth spilling from her lips.
"If I could turn back, just one frozen night,
I’d hold on to you, never let go of your light..."
Her chest heaved, the mories she had buried clawing their way up. She could feel her throat tighten, but she refused to falter.
"Yet here we stand, strangers in ti,
The frost between us, a mountain to climb..."
Her fingers curled tightly against the fabric of her dress. Every word felt like a confession, one she had never dared to say aloud until now.
Fu Jingrong’s hands slowed slightly on the keys, his gaze flickering to her. For the first ti in a long while, his calm, polished mask was cracking.
Still, she sang on, her voice trembling but clear.
"But the seasons don’t wait, and the silence has grown,
I reach for your warmth, but I’m left all alone..."
Her heart felt as if it was splitting open, bleeding into every note. Tears burned behind her closed eyes, though none fell. It wasn’t just the song—it was her truth. The longing. The regret. The helplessness.
Her voice rose again, carrying a desperate edge.
"If fate is a thief, then it’s stolen my years,
Left with echoes, and endless tears..."
Fu Jingrong’s fingers pressed harder against the keys, and the lody grew fuller, heavier, as if he were answering her anguish with his own. The music wasn’t gentle anymore—it was raw, fierce, trembling with emotions too deep to na.
Hua Jing’s voice faltered for a breath, but then she pushed through, her tone breaking slightly, making the words all the more piercing.
"Still I will wait, in the frost where we t,
A chance never taken, a vow of regret..."
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