Evening.
The Yueya was as fine as silk, as new as could be.
This place seemed to have a subtly exquisite, invisible barrier that gentled the boisterous wind from Dian Lake. It wasn't hot during the day, nor cold at night. Listening to the rustling of the bamboo unknowingly calmed one's mind.
Hong Ran casually plucked a bamboo leaf and asked Zhou Li, "Can you still play it?"
"I never really learned how, okay?"
"I've forgotten too." Hong Ran tried to blow on it but could only produce short, sharp sounds.
"What a pity."
"Let me fumble around with it a bit. I'm sure I'll remember soon."
"Go ahead and try."
In the Bamboo Courtyard, just the two of them sat facing each other at a stone table. There wasn't much on it—only some fruit and tea.
Hong Ran began her attempts.
Sometimes she blew; sometimes she inhaled. The sounds were halting, but at least they were crisp.
