Chapter 8 Bringing an Iceberg Home

Since their reunion at the hospital, Lu Er had felt an uneasy knot in his heart.

Bai Zhi was worried and asked several times if he wanted to go see a doctor.

In the recording studio, he was working on a new song, Moonlight and Dust.

As soon as the prelude began, when the lyrics reached “You are the moonlight on porcelain, I am the fireworks of the mortal world, gazing with obsession…”, Lu Er’s throat felt as if something was blocking it.

The teleprompter before his eyes automatically switched back to his senior year of high school.

He looked like a foolish dog chasing the moon.

He had stayed up late every night, grinding through problems, just to attend the same university as Song Jingmo, becoming a chronic sleep-deprived “special case.”

His family tried, one after another, to persuade him to study management—lower scores required, easier to inherit the family business—but he refused.

He insisted on studying clinical medicine.

Looking back now, he was so young and impetuous.

He thought that as long as he worked hard enough, he could narrow the gap between himself and Song Jingmo.

Little did he know, the chasm between a genius and an ordinary person was like the Milky Way—far from something easily crossed.

Song Jingmo finished high school in just one year and was directly admitted to A University. Lu Er struggled for three years just to barely catch up.

He spent day and night in the library, forcing himself through thick textbooks, exhausted, only to scrape together a graduation certificate.

By then, Song Jingmo had already earned his PhD and had offers from prestigious hospitals in hand.

With his poor grades, there was no way Lu Er could get into those hospitals.

For every small step Song Jingmo took, Lu Er needed years to chase—and still fell short.

“I tread through a thousand waves toward the light…”

“You are the moonlight on snow, I am a candle in the mortal world, gazing at the heavens…”

“If our meeting requires burning half a lifetime of obsession, I’m willing to keep the night alive, waiting for a fleeting encounter…”

As the melody flowed, Lu Er’s voice unconsciously trembled with emotion.

He had only managed to finish high school thanks to Song Jingmo’s tutoring.

He could almost hear Song Jingmo’s cold, calm voice repeating physics problems he could never understand.

He could almost smell that summer air, mixed with the cool scent of mint candy.

Closing his eyes, he poured all his regrets, grievances, and the small, unspoken affection into the song.

When the song ended, the studio was so quiet one could hear a pin drop.

The producer clapped excitedly: “Perfect on the first take! You were amazing today! So full of emotion, I almost cried listening!”

Manager Jiang Qingyan scrutinized him: “Be honest with me—have you been hurt emotionally?”

Lu Er: “…”

“This song is overflowing with emotion. If I didn’t know you were single, I’d swear you were heartbroken.”

Lu Er twitched at the teasing, his eyes flickering.

He forced a dry laugh: “Just… thinking about a friend.”

Jiang Qingyan pondered: “Ah, an old acquaintance, huh.”

That evening, back home, Lu Er collapsed onto the sofa and was bombarded with WeChat voice messages from Leng Keyan.

First, whining complaints about Song Jingmo being a “human iceberg.”

Making the same mistake twice would earn a glance that could freeze someone instantly—so stressful it could make a person lose their hair.

Then some gossip: “Uncle, Teacher Song asked about Sister Bai Zhi today. Do you think he… likes her?”

“Sister Bai Zhi is so beautiful. Love at first sight is normal.”

Song Jingmo likes Bai Zhi?

What a perspective…

Lu Er felt a surge of gloom and replied harshly, sending a barrage of messages:

“You brat, stop playing the victim.”

“Doctor Song is strict because he cares about you. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“Don’t try to fool me with exaggeration. Do you think your uncle is that gullible?”

“That one problem I got wrong five or six times, Song Jingmo didn’t frown once, gentle and patient the whole time.”

“You’re lucky to have such a teacher. Study well, don’t be ungrateful.”

On the other end, Leng Keyan fell silent, pondering.

Could the “teacher with a two-and-a-half-meter aura and a deadly gaze” really be the same Song Jingmo in the department?

One month later.

Just as Lu Er applied a luxury face mask, his phone buzzed like a summons.

Leng Keyan slurred: “Uncle… I drank too much…”

Lu Er frowned: “You’re brave! Who taught you to hang out at the bar this late?”

“Stay put. I’ll ask Bai Zhi to pick you up.”

Leng Keyan mumbled: “Teacher Song is here… department team-building… we all drank too much.”

Song Jingmo too?

Thinking of Song Jingmo liking Bai Zhi, Lu Er jumped off the sofa and dashed to the bathroom: “Send me your location.”

Cursing himself—“Lu Er, you’re such a fool”—he quickly changed clothes, grabbed the car keys, and rushed to the garage, without even a mask.

He sped to the private restaurant, most people already gone.

He immediately spotted Leng Keyan collapsed on the table, unconscious.

Next to him, Song Jingmo sat with one hand supporting his forehead, eyes downcast, cheeks flushed unnaturally.

He looked very drunk.

Lu Er’s heart clenched slightly.

He stomped over, roughly waking Leng Keyan and shoving him into the back seat.

As he closed the car door, he glanced back at Song Jingmo, sitting alone in the courtyard.

That desolate figure inexplicably stirred a pang of sympathy.

Recalling Song Jingmo’s coldness at the hospital, Lu Er bit his lip and thought: better not meddle too much.

A waiter approached Song Jingmo: “Sir, is someone picking you up? We’re closing soon.”

Song Jingmo looked at Lu Er opening the car door.

Their eyes met, and time froze.

In a daze, Lu Er recalled college nights, how after every exam, he would get drunk with his roommates.

No matter how late or busy, Song Jingmo would come to pick him up without complaint.

And he, like Song Jingmo tonight, would sit obediently, waiting.

Before that incident, Song Jingmo had always been extremely kind to him.

He couldn’t dismiss years of care just because of one flaw.

Lu Er approached Song Jingmo. The closer he got, the clearer he smelled the faint alcohol mixed with familiar cedar scent.

“Song Jingmo?”

He called softly, a gentleness even he didn’t realize he carried.

Song Jingmo slowly lifted his head; his normally cold eyes were misted over.

His gaze was dazed, lingering on Lu Er for several seconds, then he nodded very slowly.

Drunk, Song Jingmo shed all his coldness, appearing obedient and gentle.

Lu Er’s heart melted. On impulse, he softened his voice: “Do you… want to go home with me?”

He expected Song Jingmo to refuse, or not respond at all.

Unexpectedly, Song Jingmo nodded again.

He even murmured a soft, low “Mm,” slightly nasal.

That single sound shattered Lu Er’s reason completely.

Carefully, he helped Song Jingmo to his feet; his steps were unsteady but cooperative.

Quietly leaning against him, Song Jingmo let himself be half-supported, half-carried into the passenger seat.

On the way, he remained silent, head tilted against the window.

His right hand rested lazily against his forehead. Perhaps because of its fair skin, Lu Er could clearly see the veins and tendons on the back of his hand.

Indeed, Song Jingmo’s hands were beautiful.

At a red light, Lu Er couldn’t help stealing another glance. His long lashes twitched slightly—he hadn’t fully fallen asleep.

At the villa.

Lu Er had Bai Zhi take Leng Keyan upstairs.

He helped Song Jingmo onto the sofa, intending to get him some water.

Just as he turned, a hot hand grabbed his wrist.

He looked back to meet Song Jingmo’s dazed but unusually focused gaze.

Drunk, Song Jingmo stared at him, lips slightly parted, voice slurred: “Six years… why didn’t you ever look for me?”