Welcome to Rewind World Game-Chapter 1303 - 1299: "Moonlight Sonata

The woman looked at him with a smile.

Hair tied into a bun, curved willow-like eyebrows, hoarse eyes.

It was such eyes.

Every time she ordered him to play the piano, she would show such eyes.

At this moment, Su Ming’an felt like he was back to the countless nights of practicing the "Moonlight Sonata"... Ding-ling, ding-ling, the grainy sound of the piano seemed like falling moonlight. When he looked up out of the window, he could see the moon hidden behind the dark clouds. His palms were burning with pain, unable to distinguish whether the keys were white or red.

When he was young, he didn’t understand why his parents always argued about "money," as if this term possessed countless magic powers. Even the most loving divine couples couldn’t escape this curse. "Money" was a sharp blade that could cut through all the promises of love.

It wasn’t until he saw his mother wailing over a bag of rotten vegetables, like a string suddenly broke, that he vaguely realized something.

"...he simply won’t come back; he only ever cares about those guns, thieves, and robbers." She sat among the rotten vegetable leaves, holding him, her chest continuously vibrating:

"He’s a great hero, some people thank him, but what good does that do, can it pay the bills! Can it make him care about your growth! Never coming home, what’s the point of that little money?"

"Why does even the vendor at the vegetable market bully me... Before I got married, I was a young girl, who wouldn’t even touch water with her fingers, now my hands are full of chilblains..."

"Ming’an, Ming’an, you must never be like him in the future; no one will appreciate a hero. Even if they do, your contributions and sacrifices cannot be returned... Don’t talk about protecting everyone; even if you touch others for a few months, they send you flowers, they sing praises, it’s your family who suffers for a lifetime..."

"Surviving yourself is the most important thing; if you die, there’s nothing..."

His mother held him, hot tears fell on him, speaking those words that became engraved on his heart; they were the truths she learned from her own life, fruits born of her grief.

At this moment, what rose in Su Ming’an’s heart was not "the rescue of others is wrong," but — "marriage, indeed, is a disaster."

If luck is good, life goes smoothly. If luck is bad and you find irreconcilable issues post-marriage, what remains is a lifetime of trivialities and indelible pain.

So he tugged on her sleeve, softly said: "End it, mom, don’t continue this."

Lin Wang’an was born into a family of piano nobility, with a beautiful face and graceful demeanor before marriage, fingers never touching household chores, filled with artistic cells, always carrying a gentle and happy expression. But somehow, ever since he was born, she was always full of worry, with her heart occupied solely by life’s bitterness.

...Was it brought by him?

...Did he become her chain, trapping her here. Perhaps if she left him behind, she would be happier.

He sincerely urged her to leave here, but a child’s words hold no power. Once any truth reaches a child’s mouth, it becomes childish and laughable.

So she suddenly broke down, as if provoked by his words, slapped him across the face:

"A child, advising parents to divorce!"

"Ungrateful brat! Truly ungrateful! Is this your place to speak up? You’re just a kid, what do you know? Who taught you to say these things, have you been watching bad stuff online again!? It’s the games, right!"

He didn’t understand.

He only knew she wasn’t happy at home. He hoped she would be happy. He didn’t see any joy in this marriage, only someone who cried all day long filled with resentment.

But the burning pain on his cheek reminded him he spoke wrongly. The only condition for a child to judge if their ideas are correct is whether they get hit by adults or not.

He was hit; therefore, he was wrong.

But still, he wanted to "rescue" her from the quagmire, even if she said saving people was not correct.

Yet before he could even speak, he watched her stomp to the computer desk, smashing the keyboard in anger.

"Crack——"

The keys scattered on the floor, like a shower of black and gray snow. The clatter, like sharp thorns, hit him in the heart, making him shudder.

"It’s all the things online! You must have befriended those filthy people who taught you to say these things..." She pointed the blame outside the family: "You’re not allowed to go online anymore, if I hear such words again, I’ll beat you to death..."

At this moment, looking at the disheveled woman, Su Ming’an covered his painful cheek and looked at the photo hanging on the wall — it was a photo of Lin Wang’an when she was young.

In the photo, she wore a ponytail, her eyebrows drawn long, cheeks rosy, lips painted with a beautiful lipstick shade, dressed in a delicate chiffon dress, carrying a branded handbag. She looked towards the vast ocean, walked on the golden sand towards the waves, the night sky lowered, stars scattered, and the light in her eyes captured at that moment — seemed to contain countless stars and seas. She once traveled far, very far, to capture the romantic inspiration of notes. 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

That day, she must have seen herself performing on the world stage.

But now, he only saw her who cried day and night, whose farthest distance was just to the vegetable market.

The fire in her eyes, extinguished.

Yet another fire lit, burned in her chest. Su Ming’an recognized it; the teacher had taught it too; that fire’s name was "love."

It turned out she would rather, because of "love," cocoon herself.

Gave up the dream of stars and the sea, trapping herself in the vegetable market and the kitchen, only watching him gradually grow taller.

Su Ming’an couldn’t judge if this was correct or wrong; maybe everyone has different choices, but she was once so free, didn’t belong to anyone... This gradually made him fear this word, "love."

—What is love?

Could it be a brainwashing agent? Or a poison? Making someone trapped in a confined space willingly, crying day and night?

It also made someone a great hero, ignoring his wife and child, always bravely dedicating himself to protecting the people, not regretting he might die heroically?

—Yet wasn’t the former’s "love," and the latter’s "love," the same thing? Why did they lead to completely opposite results?

—Why did the former’s "love" hinder the latter’s "love" from moving forward?

—Why did the latter’s "love" make the former’s "love" become sharp and painful?

The young child was puzzled. He asked Uncle Zhao, asked the girl next door, asked the teacher; their answers differed, but none answered his questions.

Until, on the day he turned eight, Su Ming’an finally got the answer to this question—

That day, Lin Wang’an was unusually smiling, even if he played a few wrong notes, she didn’t hit his hand with the already dented wooden ruler.

"Why is mom so happy today?" he asked, looking up.

"Because today will be a very happy, very happy event!" She seemed like a young girl again, expectations similar to the photo on her face. There was something shining in her eyes, Su Ming’an guessed it was the stars and seas she’d long lost.

He quietly glanced at the calendar, today his father was on duty, impossible for him to come home to surprise her. It wasn’t the wedding anniversary either, and even if it were, his father would rarely come home. So why was mom so happy today?

He smelled the fragrance of red bean paste, today mom made red bean porridge, placed in a bowl on the table, stirring it, a sticky and sweet fragrance.

"Keep practicing, I’ll make dinner." Mom said, leaving the room with a smile on her face.

Su Ming’an continued practicing piano; this practice had to last for at least three hours every day.

"Ding dong—— ding dong——"

The wall clock ticked, ticked. The "Moonlight Sonata" under his hands pulsed with grainy music, curiosity gradually filled his heart... Mom hadn’t been this happy in a long time. He wanted to know why, he needed to know why.

If he knew why she was happy, even if she wasn’t willing to leave here, he could create such happiness from time to time, to cheer her up a bit.

...

["...like a small boat rocking on the moonlit surface of Lake Lucerne in Switzerland..."]

...

He tiptoed out of bed, quietly walking towards the door.

...faster, faster, faster.

If the piano stops for too long, Mom will notice, and she’ll scold him for not playing. This opportunity would disappear.

At this moment, even when his fingers left the keys, he seemed to still hear the haunting strains of the "Moonlight Sonata", the notes of C-sharp minor leaping around his ears, the high and low notes, interludes of finger stretches and compressions...

His footsteps quickened as he left his room, walked down the narrow corridor, and headed toward his mom’s room at the end of the hallway...

...

["...from far away, far away, as if rising suddenly from the invisible depths of the soul, comes a silent voice. Some of the sounds are melancholy, filled with endless sorrow; others are contemplative, memories rushing in, ominous forebodings..."]

...

The door to his mom’s room wasn’t fully closed, leaving a crack through which dim, yellow light spilled, tinting the pure black corridor with a layer of warmth.

Su Ming’an cautiously placed his hand on the door, the rich aroma of red beans growing ever more intense, making him crave that bowl of red bean porridge.

Just a bit longer, once he found out what was making his mom happy, he’d go eat it immediately.

He gently pulled open the door—

"Creak—"

Warm yellow light fell into his eyes. Everything was soft and blurred, like the moonlight still playing beside his ears.

Click.

He heard the sound of his heart halting, like biting into a crisp, juicy apple.

...

["...facing the sea, the moonlight is rising from where the sea meets the sky. The shimmering sea surface filled with silver light all at once, the moon rising higher and higher, threading through strands of wispy clouds like light gauze..."]

...

Thin, vivid red blood.

The persistent highs and lows, the distinct granularity of the piano notes—from this moment, they’ve never left his ears.

Moonlight, oh, moonlight...

The moonlight was like gauze, softly descending from outside the window. Through this dim, pale yellow mist, he saw—jet-black hair spread across the floor like coiling snakes, a woman quietly lying on the bed in a pure white chiffon dress, wearing beautiful lipstick.

Her wrist rested in a basin, red threads streaming out, one after another, the bright red piercing his eyes.

Such a fragrance, such a fragrance.

What a fragrant red bean porridge... The sweet, lingering aroma continuously slipped into his nose,

The scent of blood and red bean porridge, how perfectly they fused. He instinctively swallowed, unable to distinguish whether he was smelling the red bean porridge from the living room or her flowing blood.

—She was so pale, almost like a thin sketch.

So this was the "something very happy would happen" she mentioned today—she had finally resolved to leave.

He thought of the brief glimpse he caught this morning, seeing her sitting at the computer, the screen filled with hate comments about her piano skills. It seemed he understood the source of her happiness.

"Mom...?" he stepped in, his mind stalled with confusion.

Her gaze gradually, intermittently, fell on him.

"..."

Her lips moved, as if saying something.

But the piano music was too loud in Su Ming’an’s ears. The "Moonlight Sonata" surrounded him, those fluctuating notes continuously entangling him.

He forgot how he approached her, listening to her plead, cry, and then silently watched.

He didn’t save her. She had made her hard decision, and if he overturned the basin now, she would be devastated.

But he hadn’t expected that in the end, it was she who overturned the basin, giving up on suicide, sitting soaked on the floor, her body wet whether from blood, water, or red bean porridge.

...

["Suddenly, a strong wind arose over the sea, churning up huge waves. The surf, illuminated by the moonlight, rolled toward the shore one after another..."]

...

She sat on the floor soaked, without looking at him, but gazed outside the window.

The unattended "Moonlight Sonata", at this moment, seemed to flow into her ears too.

He didn’t understand why she gave up. Perhaps she intentionally left the door ajar, if he cared enough to stop playing and actively find her, her suicide would cease. If he didn’t look for her, it showed she deserved to die.

His act of caring—once again willingly delivered her back into the "cage".

If he hadn’t come, she would have left peacefully. This was her last struggle in this world.

Su Ming’an felt at a loss, should he not have come? His care appeared to shove her once again into the whirlpool of pain.

But then, suddenly, she hugged Su Ming’an tight, crying loudly, talking about her struggles, her pain. She said: because you’re here, Mom won’t leave. Mom is sick, can’t control herself, but mom loves you truly...

Su Ming’an clasped his hand over his heart. He felt, as if a strange fire rose in his chest too. This fire resonating with the one in Mom’s chest, like an unending painful bloodline, extending their suffering.

He couldn’t forgive her violence, yet had long understood her pain.

But at this moment, moonlight, oh, moonlight.

The moonlight flowed like bright waves rolling toward them, like a small boat rocking on the moonlit surface of Lake Lucerne in Switzerland...

The Paroxetine and Escitalopram on the table glimmered with a pale yellow hue, the blades fallen on the ground sparkled like ripples, and the young woman’s picture on the wall beamed with a joyful smile...

...

That night, he gazed into his mother’s pale and despairing pupils.

Her pupils were filled with the moonlight from Beethoven’s pen.

...