NP Chapter 1

Moonlight Trust

Liang Rui stood outside the Intensive Care Unit glass window, her fingers unconsciously stroking the edge of her wristwatch. The metal strap was already slightly warm; this was the seventh time she had checked the time today. The monitoring instruments inside the ICU emitted a regular “beep,” like some cruel countdown.

“President Liang, the doctor said she can only last for another half an hour at most,” the assistant whispered, handing over a cup of coffee.

Liang Rui took the paper cup, the bitterness of the black coffee spreading on her tongue. She didn’t need sugar; life was already bitter enough. At thirty-five, she was the youngest president of MIT Technology Group and a regular on the Forbes List—all the halos were meaningless at this moment. Lying inside the glass window was her university roommate, the only person who had been able to walk into her heart in the past sixteen years.

“Have the lawyer prepare the documents,” Liang Rui’s voice was lower than usual, as if rubbed by sandpaper. “Also, contact Saint Sound Conservatory of Music.”

When she pushed open the door to the ward, the smell of disinfectant assaulted her. Su Wen on the hospital bed had become emaciated, her once lively eyes sunken deeply. Liang Rui’s nails dug into her palm, but her face didn’t betray the slightest emotion.

“Rui Rui…” Su Wen’s fingers moved, causing the IV tube to sway. “You’ve come.”

Liang Rui sat down by the bed, grasping the cold hand. She hated physical contact, but at this moment, she held it tightly. “Save your strength. I’ve already contacted a team of experts from Switzerland.”

Su Wen shook her head, white mist forming on the oxygen mask: “It’s too late… Ling Yu…”

The ward door was gently pushed open. A girl in a school uniform stood at the door, holding sheet music in her arms, her ponytail slightly loose. Sixteen-year-old Ling Yu had the same almond-shaped eyes as Su Wen, now filled with terror.

“Mom?” Her voice was trembling.

The next twenty minutes felt fast-forwarded. The doctor announced that the rescue was ineffective, Ling Yu’s cries pierced the eardrums, the lawyer read the will, the nurse unplugged various tubes… Liang Rui was like a precisely operating machine, handling all the procedures. Until—

“I don’t want to!” Ling Yu suddenly screamed,Dumping off Liang Rui’s hand. “I don’t want to go with you!”

The sheet music scattered on the floor, and the girl turned and ran. Liang Rui signaled the assistant to handle the aftermath, then chased after her. She found Ling Yu curled up into a ball under a sycamore tree in the Hospital Back Garden.

“C Major Scale,” Liang Rui suddenly said, “you played F Sharp incorrectly in the third octave.”

Ling Yu suddenly raised her head, her face streaked with tears: “How did you know…”

“Your mother played your performances every time we video-called,” Liang Rui took out a handkerchief from her windbreaker pocket. “Wipe your face; you have a professional class tomorrow.”

The handkerchief had a faint Cedar Scent. Ling Yu clutched it, suddenly collapsing: “I don’t have a mother anymore…” Her sobs were like those of an injured animal. “I have nothing left…”

Liang Rui stood frozen for a moment, then slowly squatted down. She awkwardly wrapped her arms around the girl’s trembling shoulders, feeling the warm tears soaking through her shirt. “You have me.” She was surprised when she said these words.

Three days later, Ling Yu stood in front of Liang Rui’s Duplex Apartment, dragging a suitcase. The black, white, and gray decoration style was like a show flat, lacking any trace of life.

“Your room is on the second floor, first door on the right,” Liang Rui took off her high heels, revealing her slender ankles wrapped in stockings. “The cleaning service will come every Wednesday. Don’t mess with the documents in the study.”

Ling Yu stared at the gleaming marble floor, muttering softly, “Like a morgue…”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Ling Yu forced a smile. “Thank you, Auntie Liang, for taking me in.”

Liang Rui’s eyebrows twitched: “Call me Sister.”

“But you’re fourteen years older than me…”

“Call me Sister.”

That night, Chopin’s “Revolutionary Étude” reverberated through the apartment. Liang Rui looked up from the financial reports, realizing it was already one in the morning. She pushed open the door to the Music Room; Ling Yu was frantically pounding on the keys, her fingers almost sparking against the black and white keys.

“You have school tomorrow,” Liang Rui turned on the overhead light.

Ling Yu’s fingers hovered in the air: “I can’t sleep.”

“Warm milk and honey, it’s good for your mother…” Liang Rui paused. “It’s effective for you.”

“I’m not her!” Ling Yu slammed the piano lid shut. “I won’t become anyone’s substitute!”

Liang Rui’s pupils contracted slightly. Moonlight streamed in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, outlining the girl’s stubborn profile. For a moment, she seemed to see twenty-year-old Su Wen standing at the graduation ceremony, smiling and saying, “Rui Rui, you’re too serious.”

“No one wants you to become anyone,” Liang Rui turned around. “But breakfast is at seven tomorrow; don’t be late.”

The first week passed in silence. Liang Rui noticed that Ling Yu always spread butter on the edges of her toast, as if drawing Concentric Circle; Ling Yu was shocked by Liang Rui’s habit of getting up at five every morning to swim. Two completely different life trajectories were forcibly twisted together, like a discordant chord.

The conflict erupted in the second week. Liang Rui turned down an International Meeting to attend Ling Yu’s parent-teacher conference, only to hear the teacher say, “Ling Yu has refused to participate in next month’s Young Musician Competition.”

The atmosphere was terrifyingly low on the drive home. “Explain,” Liang Rui’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

“I don’t want to be locked in the Music Room for eight hours!” Ling Yu clutched the seat belt. “Mom never—”

“That’s why you’re homeless now!” Liang Rui slammed on the brakes. “Su Wen spoiled you. A professional path requires discipline, not just relying on cleverness—”

“What do you know!” Ling Yu’s eyes were red. “Music isn’t your business report!”

Liang Rui suddenly reached out and turned off the car stereo—it was playing a recording of Ling Yu’s last competition. “The Natural D was played as a reductionre, is this your ‘artistic freedom’?”

Ling Yu’s face turned pale. Even the judges hadn’t heard that mistake.

That night, Liang Rui found a note slipped under Ling Yu’s door: “I’m sorry, but music is my life.” She sat in the study with the note until dawn, spread out in front of her was Su Wen’s letter: “Rui Rui, Ling Yu needs someone to tell her when to stop and when to continue… just like you did for me back then.”

The next morning, Liang Rui pushed open the Music Room door with breakfast. Ling Yu was asleep on the piano, her eyelashes still wet with tears. Liang Rui gently put down the tray, her gaze sweeping over the sheet music—the fingerings marked with repeated modifications were densely packed.

“Idiot,” she said softly, placing a blanket on the girl’s shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

The turning point came a month later. Liang Rui came home late one night and found Ling Yu curled up on the sofa, her face flushed. The thermometer read 39.2 degrees Celsius (102.6 Fahrenheit), and she immediately called her private doctor.

“Just the flu…” Ling Yu’s voice was hoarse.

“Shut up,” Liang Rui put a cold towel on her forehead. “Take your medicine.”

The medicine was bitter, and Ling Yu frowned and dodged, but Liang Rui pinched her chin and forced it down. Then, a cold hand stroked her burning cheek, the movement unbelievably gentle.

“Mom…” Ling Yu murmured in her half-sleep.

Liang Rui’s hand froze. In the moonlight, the girl’s eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks, like the fragile wings of a butterfly. She remembered Su Wen’s last words: “Rui Rui, teach her how to live…”

At three in the morning, Liang Rui found Ling Yu playing the piano. The girl, still feverish, was playing Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” (Moonlight), her fingers trembling.

“Don’t G Sharp.” Liang Rui said from the shadows.

Ling Yu’s fingers stopped. “How did you…”

“The first piece your mother taught me to listen to,” Liang Rui walked to the piano. “She always said you played it better than me.”

The piano bench sank slightly, and two figures nestled together in the moonlight. The wrong notes were corrected, and the discordant chords finally found resolution.

The next morning, Ling Yu found a note on the dining table: “Competition application form is in the Music Room, decide for yourself. –R” The letter R was drawn with a small heart.