Lin Wan's name surpassed Jiang Lin's for the first time on the honor list of her senior year of high school.
Everyone cheered, but I noticed that the back of his physics test paper was filled with legal provisions.
"Genius? Just a puppet manipulated by the family." I sneered as I tore up the admission letter to the Conservatory of Music.
Two years later, I was practicing in a dilapidated piano room when a recording of my high school competition suddenly aired on the radio.
Jiang Lin kicked the door open and saw me teaching students to play the song "Moonlight".
The hospital wristband that slipped off his sleeve turned white as he clutched it: "This time it's my turn to chase you."
The moment he overthrew the chaebol in the court broadcast, I fell under the spotlight in the concert hall.
When he rushed 107 steps, he only touched my gradually cooling fingertips.
The diagnostic note in the pocket of his cassock read: "Please don't cry for me."
