Starry Notes
About This Novel
Lin Fanxing, a girl who grew up in loneliness, began to cast her unique "magic" on the lover in her heart. She creates "instant" coincidences one after another, leaving behind clues that need to be solved, like a grand treasure hunt in which only the two of them are the protagonists. She hid in the dark, watching him confused, searching, and smiling. Her heartbeat accelerated uncontrollably again like when she was checking her body in childhood, but this time, it was not because of disease, but because of love. The story of "Notes from the Stars" slowly unfolds in Lin Fanxing's nervous and sweet "magic". She is no longer just a lonely observer, she finally becomes a participant in her own life and encounters her own puzzle-like growth.
What Readers Think
Rating
Community(0)
Official(2)Scraped 4d ago
A quiet story, you need to calm down and read it👀👀
It's a very interesting story about growth and love. I recommend it👍₍₍Ϡ(੭•̀ω•́)੭✧😘
Prologue: Ink Blots and Growth Rings
Snowy night of December 3, 2030 The snow outside the window was falling hard, and the snowflakes fluttered on the glass and instantly melted into water marks, like the tears left by time. I was sitting in the old rocking chair in the study, with this heavy diary spread out on my knees. The cowhide cover is mottled and the corners of the pages are curled, as if recording all the caressed nights over the years. The heater hummed softly, reminding me of the songs my father hummed while repairing the lamp. People are really strange. What they desperately wanted to escape from when they were young turns out to be the most precious memory when they grow older. Today I was cleaning out the attic and found the old piano that my mother left behind. The keys have turned yellow and some of the notes are out of tune. But when I pressed middle C, I suddenly remembered the first song she taught me, "Little Star." Her hands were still so warm at that time, covering the back of my young hands, leading me note by note. Tonight, with the dim moonlight outside the window, I opened it again. The fragrance of ink mixed with the smell of old paper hit my face, pulling me back to the time when the colors began to fade into the gray and white of life. The ink bottle is open and the pen is spinning at my fingertips. Maybe we should start from that childhood that was always filled with the smell of disinfectant - that was the first note of the movement of my life, weak, but it determined the tone of the whole piece. What is recorded in it is not daily trivial matters, but the secrets of how I learned to touch the world...
Rating
Community(0)
Official(2)Scraped 4d ago
A quiet story, you need to calm down and read it👀👀
It's a very interesting story about growth and love. I recommend it👍₍₍Ϡ(੭•̀ω•́)੭✧😘
Prologue: Ink Blots and Growth Rings
Snowy night of December 3, 2030 The snow outside the window was falling hard, and the snowflakes fluttered on the glass and instantly melted into water marks, like the tears left by time. I was sitting in the old rocking chair in the study, with this heavy diary spread out on my knees. The cowhide cover is mottled and the corners of the pages are curled, as if recording all the caressed nights over the years. The heater hummed softly, reminding me of the songs my father hummed while repairing the lamp. People are really strange. What they desperately wanted to escape from when they were young turns out to be the most precious memory when they grow older. Today I was cleaning out the attic and found the old piano that my mother left behind. The keys have turned yellow and some of the notes are out of tune. But when I pressed middle C, I suddenly remembered the first song she taught me, "Little Star." Her hands were still so warm at that time, covering the back of my young hands, leading me note by note. Tonight, with the dim moonlight outside the window, I opened it again. The fragrance of ink mixed with the smell of old paper hit my face, pulling me back to the time when the colors began to fade into the gray and white of life. The ink bottle is open and the pen is spinning at my fingertips. Maybe we should start from that childhood that was always filled with the smell of disinfectant - that was the first note of the movement of my life, weak, but it determined the tone of the whole piece. What is recorded in it is not daily trivial matters, but the secrets of how I learned to touch the world...
