Unfortunately, before she could truly get close, the owner of the cup had already moved away.
She looked down and continued, "Zhong Yuan would practice the guitar on the rooftop every night, no matter the wind or rain. He never missed a single evening."
It sounded incredible, yet it was the truth.
Had it not been for that one rainy night when she saw Zhong Yuan taking a tent up to the roof, she would never have believed it possible for someone to be so desperate in their pursuit of music.
Just how cold a rainy night in the dead of winter could be, probably no one knew better than she did.
That night, Jiang Shuyao wrapped in a down jacket, stood in the corridor, the cold wind mixed with rain hitting her face like a layer of ice.
The tent was pitched near the railing, a faint orange light inside, and the intermittent guitar melody was raw and tough. Yet, for some reason, it sounded unusually determined and fluid to her ears.
