Although it didn’t look aesthetically pleasing, Ai Mo knew that for an omega who had never done manual labor, it was the thought that counted. With this in mind, Ai Mo twitched his mouth into a smile, took the fruit, and started eating.
Seeing Ai Mo accept the fruit, Ye Sang’s beautiful eyes instantly lit up, shining brighter than Vega. The sparkle made Ai Mo blush, and he quickly averted his gaze.
Ye Sang, mimicking Ai Mo’s actions, lay down on the beach and looked up at the starry sky. Perhaps unable to discern anything, he clicked his tongue lightly and suddenly started singing.
A low, haunting voice, the melody sorrowful… Ai Mo was stunned—it was ‘Gloomy Sunday.’
Dreaming
梦境
I was only dreaming
原来我只是在作梦
I wake and I find you Asleep in the deep of
My heart
我醒来,然后我发现,你依旧沉眠在我心深处
Dear
我所珍爱的…
Darling I hope that my dream Never haunted you
亲爱的,我希望我的梦境不会困扰你
My heart is telling you How much I wanted you
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
虽然我的心正不断对你诉说着我有多想要你
Xibbws Vecvjs
黑色的星期天
Tf Vjcu tjv vfilmjaf ofjaegfr, yea tlr nblmf kjr j rfzs yjglabcf. Ktf vfilyfgjafis ibkfgfv rlculcu nblmf, mbwylcfv klat atf ufcaif fnfclcu ygffhf jcv rboa kjnfr, mgfjafv j tjecalcuis yfjealoei wfibvs. Pa ijmxfv atf bglulcji rbcu’r rbggbk yea jvvfv j afcvfg ilcufglcu dejilas atja mbeiv ygfjx bcf’r tfjga.
When the last note ended, Ai Mo couldn’t snap out of it, as if he were still immersed in the atmosphere, unable to pull himself away.
At that moment, Ye Sang suddenly sat up and propped his head on his hand, wearing a confident smile.
“How was it? I sang pretty well, didn’t I?”
Ye Sang’s rendition conveyed the helplessness of a final farewell and deep affection, leaving Ai Mo deeply moved. However, not wanting to inflate the already self-assured Ye Sang’s ego, Ai Mo kept a straight face and coldly replied, “Aside from the pitch being a bit off, it was overall okay.”
Seeing Ai Mo’s stubbornness, Ye Sang merely smiled and let his gaze drift to the dark sea. “Hey, you’re really strange. Why would someone play ‘Gloomy Sunday’ in that kind of setting?”
Ai Mo paused, understanding that Ye Sang was referring to their meeting at the restaurant, but he didn’t want to answer.
──He had spent two weeks in T country, witnessing many people struggling below the poverty line, simply seeking basic sustenance but unable to attain it. Yet, the foreign wealthy elite staying in luxury hotels were indulging in nightly revelry. The hotel’s reinforced glass seemed like a class ceiling, separating the filthy stench and brutal reality of the outside world.
Looking at Ye Sang’s face, one that had only known a life of song and dance, Ai Mo just gave a faint smile and remained noncommittal.
──As the saying goes, ‘The summer insect cannot discuss ice.’ For the pampered Ye Sang, lacking basic sustenance was an abstract concept; it was better left unexplained.
Seeing Ai Mo’s silence, Ye Sang, unaware of his thoughts, continued talking to himself: “Actually, I don’t like Sundays either. Not because Monday means back to work, but because I have so many social engagements on Sundays—endless drinks, countless meetings, and keeping an eye on the newspapers and media… Oh, that’s because the media likes to release news on weekends for higher click rates.”
Ye Sang chattered on, and from his simple words, Ai Mo could almost envision him dressed in an exquisite tailored suit, arm-in-arm with beautiful boys and girls, navigating the spotlight with that confident, almost narcissistic smile. It was a smile that infuriated people, yet they couldn’t help but submit to his outrageous beauty.
“I’ve said so much; now it’s your turn,” Ye Sang suddenly said with a smile, turning his head towards him.
Looking into those beautiful eyes that sparkled even in the darkness, Ai Mo hesitated several times before finally forcing a bitter smile. “There’s not much to say about my life. It’s pretty dull—unloving parents, a constrained childhood. So, after my dad died, I left that house. That’s it.”
Ye Sang could sense that the alpha was deliberately trying to end the conversation. Normally, he would have despised such rudeness, but Ai Mo’s cold eyes couldn’t hide the deep bitterness, so Ye Sang didn’t feel right getting angry.
…Either this guy is pretending to be nonchalant, or he cares too much… Realizing this, Ye Sang wisely chose not to press further, understanding that Ai Mo didn’t want to continue the conversation.
Ye Sang looked up at the starry sky. Although it was beautiful, he couldn’t make out any constellations.
“Hey, what’s so interesting about stars anyway? Sagittarius, Ursa Major—I can’t see any patterns,” he grumbled, pointing randomly at a particularly bright star. “What about that one?”
“That’s Lyra,” Ai Mo replied softly, pointing to several nearby stars and tracing a pattern. “Doesn’t it look like a lyre?”
“…How does that look like a lyre…” Ye Sang rolled his eyes.
At this moment, Ai Mo’s expression softened, dropping his usual guard and showing rare warmth. Ye Sang gazed at the handsome face beside him, scoring a solid 95 out of 100, and suddenly felt a strange impulse—his curiosity about this man intensified. He realized that Ai Mo wasn’t emotionally detached but was deliberately suppressing his alpha instincts. This man, who could risk his life for strangers, was so gentle yet seemed to dislike himself. Why was that?
Ye Sang had no interest in constellations, but he was desperate to understand this man, to know what those deep brown eyes saw, what thoughts stirred his strongly beating heart. Looking at Ai Mo’s face, which had softened, he couldn’t help but speak gently, “Why is it called Lyra?”
As he spoke, he rested his cheek on Ai Mo’s shoulder, looking up at the man’s tightly pressed lips.
Though he was very close, Ai Mo seemed lost in his memories and didn’t push him away. In a soft voice, he said, “It’s from an ancient Greek myth. There was a master lyre player named Orpheus. His wife died, and he was heartbroken. He decided to go to the underworld to bargain with Hades to bring his wife back. He played his lyre so beautifully that Hades was moved and agreed to let his wife return to the living world. But he warned Orpheus that he must not look back until they had both left the underworld, or he would regret it.”
Huh? What is this, a ghost story?
Author’s Note:
‘Gloomy Sunday’ is a song that Tao Tao really likes. Although there are many urban legends about it, interpretations of art vary from person to person~
Regarding the type of story Mo mentioned, there are similar versions in both Western and Eastern traditions. From Japanese creation myths to Chinese legends, interested sweethearts can check out Ryūnosuke Akutagawa’s short story ‘Du Zichun.’
I like how Ye Sang isn’t a typical “likable” character. He certainly is impulsive and spoilt, but he also is the perfect fit to heal Ai Mo. Thanks for the chapter ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗
ˁ•ᴗ•ˀつ～ 💞