Chapter Thirteen: The Meaning of Love

Faced with what seemed to be a casual question from the girl, I pondered for a long time before replying earnestly, “I believe love is a kind of faith—it possesses the allure that makes people live and die for it, and holds the power to create miracles. We live amidst the glitter and glamour of this world, and only with pursuit and faith do we avoid losing ourselves in the colorful darkness of the night.”

The girl nodded, then pressed her finished cigarette against the ground, extinguishing it, before sharing her own thoughts: “I think love is a kind of reckless indulgence without reason. Those who see it will do anything to seize it, and those who have it can only find ways to squander its value. We all want to emerge from this game of love unscathed, with no one hurt, but that’s impossible. If you truly wish to experience the beauty of love, to hold it in your hand and keep it in your heart, you must be prepared to give up everything for it.”

I couldn’t help but glance again at the beautiful girl beside me. Her understanding of love was so unconventional, yet deep and precise. Perhaps her view was somewhat extreme, difficult to grasp, but it already revealed she had been deeply wounded by love.

“How about this? Since we both have our own interpretations of love, why don’t we each sing a song for it—use music to express what we want to say.” She looked at me with a smile, picked up the newly opened beer, and took a hearty gulp.

“Alright, I’ll go first then.” I took a big swig of beer as well, then picked up my guitar and began to play skillfully.

I sang “Faith” by Jeff Chang, because what I wished to convey was the weight of longing deep within the soul—the blind trust and reliance people place on love. I have always believed that love is the only spiritual ideal capable of transcending both time and space; as long as there is faith, even if you are at the ends of the earth and I at the edge of the sea, we can still imagine each other, and love will bring me to your side.

When the song ended, I felt I had achieved a great connection with the emotions it expressed and was quite satisfied with my performance. The girl kept smiling as she applauded me. I nodded to signal that it was her turn, and she nodded back. Then she rolled up the wide sleeves of her shirt, revealing the fair skin beneath.

But as she rolled up her sleeves, I noticed a patch of colorful tattoos on her forearm. Looking closely, it seemed to be a string of English letters, but I couldn’t quite make out what they were.

After rolling up her sleeves, she hugged the guitar, casually strummed the strings, and began to sing.

She sang, “I dedicate my youth to the splendid city behind me, for this beautiful dream we pay the price…”

It was only now that I suddenly understood—what I had longed for was true love and freedom!

“I want to elope with you, to be the happiest person!”

I truly hadn’t expected her to choose to sing “Elope.” It was the first time in my life I’d heard a girl sing this song!

“Don’t be sad anymore, I see hope—do you still have the courage to leave with me…”

“I want to elope with you, to the most distant town; I want to elope with you, to be the happiest person…”

Her voice was soft, carrying an enchanting power that drew one into the scene. Listening, I found myself transported back to those years with Zhang Jiaxin—a time both indulgent and a little wild. I remembered the cold winter back then, when I received a disciplinary warning for helping An Ye in a fight. She kept me company on the forbidden rooftop of the main teaching building, leaning against a crate of beer. We’d clink our bottles and drink as much as we could. I still recall her small hands, red and blue from the cold, yet she cheerfully drank with me, gulp after gulp. I don’t even remember how many bottles we drank; I only remember how, afterwards, Jiaxin and I kissed wildly, ignoring the rooftop, disregarding the school, casting caution aside as we expressed our love!

Perhaps what I could never forget was not the pain and humiliation of breaking up, but those fragments of insanity—the burning love we once gave each other, the reckless possession of it!

Somehow, the girl’s singing had stopped, but I remained lost in those broken, joyful memories, unable to extricate myself.

After some time, the girl gently nudged my arm, bringing me back to reality. I looked at her, a bit embarrassed. I had to admit, her musical expression was perfect—she truly achieved a seamless connection with the song. Her performance not only brought back the happiness and unforgettable moments of the past, but also made me understand her reasoning that “love is a reckless indulgence without reason.”

My musical talent paled in comparison to this mysterious guitar girl. I merely sang the song, but her voice imparted a sense of confusion and insight, a power that I simply couldn’t match. Compared to her, I wasn’t even at the starting line.

“You sing beautifully,” I said, lighting another cigarette.

“You’re good, too.” She accepted my compliment without false modesty.

Yet I still couldn’t understand what kind of person or experience could enable such a blossoming young girl to sing with such insight and depth. This only made me all the more eager to know her story.

“Could you… tell me your story? I’m really curious…” I hesitated, but curiosity eventually won out.

“If you happen to meet me again next time, I’ll tell you,” she replied, draining her beer in one go, gently shaking down her sleeves, then stood and slung her guitar on her back.

“Will you come here again?” For some reason, as she was about to leave, I felt reluctant to let her go.

“I don’t know—maybe I will, maybe I’ll never come again,” she said, waving at me with her guitar slung over her shoulder. “Thank you for the cigarettes and beer. I had a good time.”

I watched, a little dejected, as her figure receded into the distance, and suddenly realized I didn’t even know her name!

“Hey!” I called out loudly, “What’s your name?”

“Shadow in the deep well, moonlight in the strings. Yoqin…” she replied, and without pausing, disappeared into the boundless night.

“Yoqin…” I knew this was just her stage name, but as long as I had that, it was enough for me.

Gazing at her vanishing silhouette, I no longer felt like finishing the remaining beer. I packed my guitar into its case, ready to leave.

I don’t know why, but I have a premonition that someday, I will meet this free-spirited, mysterious guitar girl, Yoqin, again. And when that day comes, I will quietly listen to her story…