Chapter 67 I Can Sing Every One of Your Songs

At three in the afternoon, the dressing room was brightly lit.

Lu Er sat quietly in front of the mirror, letting the makeup artist work on his face.

“Your skin is amazing—there’s not a single flaw,” the makeup artist exclaimed in admiration. “You’d look good even without makeup.”

Lu Er was dressed in a white suit. Along the lapel and hem, delicate silver threads intertwined with jade-green silk embroidered a cluster of elegant bamboo.

The entire outfit carried a classical Chinese charm, making his already fair complexion appear even more luminous, his temperament refined and ethereal.

Yan Huaijin had already finished his makeup and walked over in a composed black suit.

The details were just as meticulous—pale pink and silver-white threads embroidered blooming lotus flowers along the hem and cuffs, elegant and understated.

Standing together, one in black and one in white, bamboo and lotus complementing each other, they formed an unexpectedly harmonious and well-matched pair.

Looking at their reflections side by side in the mirror, Lu Er hesitated before speaking. “Teacher Yan, our outfits…”

Yan Huaijin smiled gently and explained, “Tonight we’ll be performing ‘Same Boat’ together. The stylist chose the theme ‘bamboo and lotus reflecting each other, weathering storms in the same boat,’ so this was arranged intentionally.”

Lu Er nodded in realization. Thinking that Song Jingmo would also be watching from the audience, he couldn’t help but feel a bit anxious and nervous.

By evening, the charity gala officially began.

The venue was grand and solemn, filled with distinguished guests from all walks of life.

The host and representatives from various countries spoke in turn, calling for generous donations to help people in war-torn regions rebuild their homes.

Song Jingmo sat in the front row with his mother, dressed in a well-tailored dark suit, his posture straight and imposing.

Yet his expression remained indifferent, oddly out of place amid the lively clinking of glasses around him.

When the host announced that the performers of “Same Boat” would be Lu Er and Yan Huaijin, warm applause erupted from the audience.

The two walked onto the stage side by side. The spotlight shone down on them, making the carefully designed “green bamboo” and “ink lotus” outfits stand out even more vividly.

Song Jingmo’s gaze immediately locked onto Lu Er’s white suit.

The bamboo embroidery looked lifelike, accentuating his slender waist and long legs, his aura clean and refined.

But when his eyes shifted to Yan Huaijin’s clearly corresponding black lotus suit beside him, his brows furrowed ever so slightly.

The music’s prelude began to flow.

Lu Er and Yan Huaijin quickly immersed themselves in the performance.

The song told the story of two kindred spirits supporting each other through times of war.

At times they sang solo, at times they exchanged deep, meaningful glances, bringing the profound bond in the song vividly to life.

“Wild geese cannot cross, a thousand miles of moonlight cold, yet it always falls upon the window where I keep watch…”

Lu Er’s clear voice was tender and lingering as his gaze instinctively swept across the audience.

It brushed past Song Jingmo’s expressionless face before returning to Yan Huaijin.

Yan Huaijin’s voice was rich and steady:

“Last night I dreamed of our youth, when you wrote ‘return safely’… Now I stand at the frontier, snow falling upon my armor…”

Lu Er continued, his eyes carrying just the right amount of warmth and reliance:

“Where cooking smoke rises, thousands of homes glow dimly—among them, one lamp is mine, waiting for your gaze…”

On stage, they portrayed a deeply moving bond of companionship.

Offstage, Song Jingmo’s hand resting on his knee silently tightened.

Their tacit glances, their coordinated outfits, the lyrics of waiting and watching—it all felt like a carefully painted scroll.

And in that scroll, the one standing beside Lu Er was not him.

The song ended to thunderous applause.

A wealthy woman donated 100 million on the spot, drawing gasps of amazement from the crowd.

Holding the microphone, she smiled. “I really love your song ‘Moonlight and Dust.’ Would it be possible to hear you sing it again?”

Lu Er was a little surprised but quickly nodded with a smile. “Of course. Thank you for your love and support.”

Being able to contribute to charity, he felt it was his duty.

The familiar prelude of “Moonlight and Dust” began.

Compared to “Same Boat,” this song felt more ethereal and yearning.

Standing at the center of the stage, bathed in light, Lu Er sang:

“You are the moonlight on porcelain, I am the smoke and fire of the human world, gazing up in infatuation…”

His voice was airy, reverent.

“I walk toward the light, crossing a thousand waves…”

After listening, the wealthy woman seemed deeply moved.

Unable to resist, she asked, “I’m your fan, so forgive me for asking—but the ‘moonlight’ in this song… does it have a real-life inspiration?”

The question was too direct.

The hall fell silent in an instant, everyone turning to look at Lu Er with curiosity.

His fingers tightened slightly around the microphone, his heartbeat quickening.

His gaze drifted uncontrollably toward the front row—to that figure in a simple suit, yet strikingly handsome.

Their eyes met.

Just one glance—and Lu Er quickly looked away, as if burned.

Taking a deep breath, cheeks slightly warm, his voice rang clearly through the hall:

“Yes.”

Then, under the even more curious gazes of the crowd, he softly added:

“He’s here tonight.”

“Wow!”

The audience erupted instantly—cheers and whispers rising one after another.

Eyes swept across the room, searching among the notable figures and celebrities who might have crossed paths with Lu Er.

“Sing together! Sing together!”

Someone shouted, and many quickly joined in, pushing the atmosphere to a climax.

“Sing one song—I’ll donate another 50 million!”

“I’ll donate 50 million too!”

Lu Er panicked.

He knew Song Jingmo’s personality—he never liked participating in such entertainment-heavy situations, let alone going on stage to sing.

He hurriedly raised the microphone, trying to decline:

“Well, that might be—”

“Okay.”

The entire hall fell silent.

Everyone turned toward the voice.

In the front row, that man who had been sitting quietly all along—cold and composed—slowly stood up.

The spotlight seemed to follow him instinctively.

Lu Er stared in disbelief.

Song Jingmo had already risen, ignoring the probing gazes around him as he calmly walked toward the stage.

The spotlight trailed him, illuminating his tall figure.

Lu Er was completely stunned, standing frozen on stage with the microphone in hand, watching as Song Jingmo approached him step by step.

On stage, the two stood side by side.

One cool and distant like the moon, the other radiant like dust—forming a striking contrast, yet an inexplicably perfect harmony.

Leaning closer, Lu Er whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, “Can you sing? Do you need—”

Song Jingmo turned his head, his gaze settling on Lu Er’s slightly widened eyes.

His expression was deep, as if holding countless unspoken words.

Lowering his voice as well, his tone carried unquestionable certainty as it reached Lu Er’s ears:

“No need. Every one of your songs—I can sing.”

“….”

Lu Er froze completely.

It felt as though something had slammed into his heart, leaving it aching and trembling.

Every one of his songs… Song Jingmo could sing them all?

How was that possible? Hadn’t he always been uninterested in these things?