The heavy rain hit the glass dome of the concert venue, like countless hands beating desperately. In the venue, there was no audience, no lights, no cheering sticks, only a solitary spotlight in the center, like a beam of forgotten faith, hanging on the empty stage.
Lin Xue's bare feet, with their soles stained by last night's rain and dust, stepped on the cold wooden floor without any hesitation. He was not wearing any performance clothes, just an old T-shirt that had been washed white, the cuffs were frayed, and the trousers were rolled up to his calf, revealing an old light blue scar - it was caused by hitting the iron railing when he was dragged off the stage by security five years ago.
He walked over to the guitar. There were cracks in the body of the instrument and the strings were broken three times, all of which he replaced with his own hands. The company took away all his equipment, except this one, which he hid in an old box in the attic of his apartment with a note: "Don't let it die."
He sat down and lightly brushed the strings with his fingertips, without tuning or sound-checking. He just paused for three seconds, as if he was waiting for someone or himself.
Then he played.
The first sound was mute.
