431-435

*Chapter 431: Cleansing the Tarnish*

Blair quietly gazed at Anson, silently—gradually falling into the depths.

That voice, like warm ice, emitted a crystal-clear brilliance. Upon careful approach, one could see the scars hidden beneath the cold exterior—so fragile, yet so weathered. However, there was no compromise, no surrender, just an unyielding song.

So peaceful, yet so powerful.

So bright, yet so delicate.

An overwhelming and surging sadness engulfed Blair.

Her vision blurred in an instant.

But Blair did not wipe away the tears; she let them fall freely as she kept her eyes on Anson, allowing her thoughts to flow along with the melody.

Anson was smiling, his eyes bright, standing tall and proud, showcasing resilience and strength in the face of all storms, painting a picture of a simple life—

"A stable job to support the family; perhaps I’ll buy some new strings, and maybe we’ll spend a weekend out together." (Note 1)

There's no need to be a hero, no need to be a great figure; even in simple, everyday life, one can find bits of happiness.

In truth, happiness often isn't grand or magnificent; it's precisely those reachable daily moments that silently make each second feel fulfilling.

They always searched desperately, losing their way without realizing it—unable to find happiness, themselves, or the way back. Only after cleansing the tarnish, when the lights dim, do they realize that happiness has always been within reach, just waiting to be grasped.

And then...

Anson looked at Lily, who hummed the lower notes, joining Anson in a duet.

"We can whisper secrets…"

Lily’s fingers rested on the black and white keys, ready but not yet playing, pausing to quietly listen to Anson's solo confession.

"Speaking about the secrets of the American Dream, babies need to be well protected, but like others, I’m just a child."

The bass entered.

The keyboard wove around.

The instruments gradually joined in, but sparingly—just a few notes like stars, weaving through Anson's calm singing.

Incredibly, the deep tones of the bass fully supported the weight of Anson's voice—the weariness turned to relief, the hesitation to sighs, the passion to sorrow, transforming into a breeze, gently swirling around Anson.

"So, let me go."

"I don't want to be your hero, I don't want to be someone great; I just want to live like an ordinary person."

Anson turned to look at Miles—a brief exchange of glances.

Miles understood, not just Anson's signal, but also the complexity in his eyes.

They thought only they had endured hardships, only they were scarred, only they wandered outside the gates of their dreams; but Anson was the same.

What he longed for wasn't fame or legacy, but a truly fulfilling and happy life, grounded in reality, cherishing each day.

Miles understood, more clearly than anyone.

Even if he could stand on the stage of Carnegie Hall as a cellist, so what?

He wasn’t happy.

In the eyes of others, it was a dream opportunity, a symbol of success. Anyone with a bit of sense would know what to choose—he should stand on the Carnegie stage, live a predictable life, don the mask, and spend the rest of his days as a stranger even to himself; but he didn’t want that.

He wanted to stand on stage with Anson and Lily Connor, even if it was just on the streets. Even if they barely scraped by, even if they eventually failed and had to leave in defeat—it didn’t matter.

The value of a dream isn't in achieving it but in the journey of pursuing it, which truly defines the meaning of life.

A smile crept into the corners of Miles' eyes as he lifted the bow again—

The mellow and graceful sound of the cello resonated.

The cello and bass, two low-frequency strings, intertwined once more.

Traditionally, the cello and bass were considered incompatible, so similar yet so different that their melodies often clashed, even devouring each other's texture, resulting in a dull performance.

Not bad, just… unremarkable.

But not this time.

Connor looked at Miles, Miles looked at Connor, a shared glance, and the deep, gentle strings intertwined and entangled, the frequency resonance creating a subtle vibration, perfectly highlighting the coolness and color in Anson's voice. In that moment, the world fell silent.

It couldn't help but go completely quiet, listening intently to Anson's voice, a simple and sincere narrative, hitting the softest part of the soul.

“I don’t want to be part of the showy display at your masquerade ball.”

Miles couldn't control the slight trembling of his heart:

No matter how dazzling, grand, or splendid that ball might be, it wasn’t their ball; no matter how magnificent, beautiful, or brilliant the success might be, it would never be their life.

Even if he had to walk alone, even if he was battered and bruised, even if no one knew, he still wanted to keep moving forward, courageously pursuing a dream that seemed utterly unattainable in his own life.

His wrist, filled with such deep emotion and intoxication, played melodies on the strings that carried the warmth and strength of his soul.

He glanced at Connor.

For a brief moment, their smiles mirrored each other, as if they were seeing each other anew.

Happiness surged from the depths of their hearts.

Then, Miles looked at Lily, and finally, his gaze fell on Anson. He could even feel the smile spreading across his own face—

The keyboard. The bass. The cello. The guitar.

Each instrument began to play, the notes colliding, intertwining, and reflecting off one another. Different textures fused together naturally, creating a chemical reaction that transformed into something purely grand and vibrant. Led by Anson's voice, they gradually built towards a climax.

“Everyone deserves a chance to grow on their own.”

A pause.

The music reached a rest, a brief silence during which the four of them exchanged glances. In each other’s eyes, they all caught traces of tears, but their smiles bloomed perfectly.

This was the true allure of performing.

For a moment, they forgot the audience, forgot the fear of making mistakes, and focused entirely on their instruments. Carefully, they entrusted fragments of their souls to the music, bringing out the warmth and color of their emotions, feeling the subtle tremors of each other’s spirits through the melody.

It was a connection, a collision, and a response.

Hearts trembled slightly, and the sense of happiness surged from the soles of their feet to the tops of their heads, their blood burning with fervor.

Until—

Strum.

Connor was the first to pluck the strings of his bass.

Then—

All the instruments roared to life.

Up until now, they had been merely accompanying, never overshadowing Anson’s performance. But at this moment, they went all out. Finally, the unique charm of this band was fully revealed, shining once again.

Note 1: "Hero" by Family of the Year.

*Chapter 432: A Baptism of the Soul*

The music finally reached its full crescendo—

The lead role was unmistakably the cello.

Miles’ hair flew in the light as he passionately and wholeheartedly played the bow, the rhythm and melody flowing seamlessly and accelerating steadily.

Everyone else surrounded Miles, the brightness of the keyboard, the sharpness of the guitar, and the vibrations of the bass all intertwining. As the cello grew more intense and powerful, the other three members' performances ignited with passion, pushing the energy toward a peak, releasing every ounce of it without reservation.

This was the band’s greatest strength—showcasing the charm of the instruments by making them play a more central role in the performance.

Though the rhythm wasn’t fast, Blair felt her blood boiling.

She could clearly hear her heart pounding against her chest, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. The world around her seemed to descend into a roar.

A smile quietly bloomed on her lips, yet her vision was already blurred by tears.

She felt like a madwoman, teetering on the edge of losing control, laughing and crying, brimming with a strange intensity.

But she didn’t care. Not one bit.

Blair focused intently on the scene in front of her, letting herself lose control in the music.

At that moment, Blair saw it.

Anson swung his guitar behind him, picked up the drumsticks with both hands, and stood in front of the drums, exchanging a glance with his three bandmates—

Lily received the signal.

A sweeping motion across the keyboard sent a rush of sound from low to high, fluid and seamless, instantly pushing the music to a climax.

The drums came in.

Boom, boom, boom.

The beats echoed like the sound from the other end of a valley, forcefully lifting the already soaring melody to a new level, unleashing a storm.

The explosion was complete.

The bass strings were furiously plucked.

The keyboard pounded like a relentless storm.

And the cello—

Unexpected yet fitting, the cello remained the true anchor.

Drawing from the legendary classic "Air on the G String" by Bach as its foundation, the bass, keyboard, and drums wove together in a dazzling, intricate pattern, capturing the brilliance and splendor of the melody.

Miles continued to play with elegance, but his bow struck the strings with wild passion, infusing each note with all the fervor and happiness, as if the energy of a burning soul poured down like a waterfall. The entire studio was engulfed in a roar.

All reason, all thoughts were crushed, shattered, and solidified, turning to ashes—

Nothing was left.

Even the tears momentarily froze on her lashes, as she stood there, wide-eyed, in shock, rendered motionless by the overwhelming storm.

Language lost its color, action lost its meaning, and her mind hit pause, leaving her standing there, a helpless boat tossed in the storm.

The band held nothing back.

Connor wasn’t sure if this was the end—after the "Tonight Show," they would go their separate ways, with no follow-up, no future, and no next step.

This was their farewell performance.

Afterward, he would return to Kansas City, go back to the grocery store, and resume his daily life. This was the end, a final goodbye to his musical dreams.

Ah, farewell. The day had finally come, after so much struggle, so much effort, so many times of giving up and picking up again. But in the end, he had to face the harsh and helpless reality. Perhaps he was never meant for music, never meant for performing, and maybe he should just bury his dreams deep inside.

That thought took root in his mind, quickly growing into a towering tree.

All those emotions, all that energy, poured out from his fingertips.

He didn’t cry—why should he cry?

At least he had once shined, once chased, once run, and once fought. He had no regrets. Though he was sad, he had no regrets. He would leave everything behind here, proof that he too had once shone like a brilliant star.

"Connor, hold your head up high, stand tall, and enjoy this moment."

Everything—every note—poured out like a flood.

Roaring, surging, overwhelming—

The different textures of the instruments collided and intertwined, and the cello’s grandeur and magnificence were fully displayed at this moment.

It was a completely different kind of expression from "Wake Me Up," with power and passion surging and crashing down, making the entire world spin.

The world spun.

Dizzying and mesmerizing.

The pounding of hearts against chests, the burning of blood and passion—an indescribable emotion roared and echoed in their minds.

Silently, they sat there, in awe.

So this is the power that instruments can wield.

So this is what a band performance can be, far beyond just singing.

So there is a level of impact and purification even greater than "Wake Me Up."

And then—

In the midst of this roaring climax, Anson’s voice rose again—

“Ah…”

No lyrics, just a shout, a cry from the depths of his soul.

“Ah! Ah, ah, ah!”

Higher and higher, he climbed, releasing all the energy hidden in the melody, octave by octave.

There were no lyrics, but the imagery was overwhelming.

“Run, Jack, run.”

In the raging storm, amidst the collapsing world, a frail and tiny figure seemed always on the verge of being devoured by darkness, crushed if he slowed even a little.

But he didn’t give up.

He just kept running, running with all his might, burning his lungs, burning his life, pushing forward despite being battered and bruised, with no regard for anything else.

He clung desperately to a faint sliver of dawn, sprinting with all his strength.

Anson heard it—Connor’s sorrow, Miles’ stubbornness, Lily’s longing; and he heard the boy’s cry.

All of it was transformed into his voice, fully unleashed.

“Ah! Ah, ah, ah!”

From past life to present, from boyhood to Connor, they had never surrendered—stubborn, foolish, innocent, and passionate, they had set their lives ablaze.

Running all the way.

“Run, Jack, don’t stop, don’t look back.”

Blair noticed—

The glimmer of tears in Anson’s eyes.

Those deep blue eyes were like the vast ocean, holding storms, nights, and countless scars, so bright yet so resilient, shimmering with tears. But he wasn’t crying; on the contrary, he was smiling, the curve of his lips shining with determination and strength.

He was shouting, releasing, and roaring.

In that instant, Blair broke down completely.

She sat there, her world falling apart, slumping her shoulders, hugging herself, trembling uncontrollably, filled with both sorrow and profound emotion.

Because, at that moment, she saw a fragile yet strong soul, cautiously exposing his wounds, refusing to give up, refusing to surrender.

He would not back down.

Run, Anson, run!

Involuntarily, Blair began to run with Anson, shedding her armor, standing naked in the storm, arms outstretched, embracing the tempest. The trembling from deep within her soul made her smile bloom freely through her tears, like a madwoman.

The performance, after reaching a peak, finally began to slow, gradually returning to calm—

Miles, Connor, Lily, all of them were breathing heavily, as if they had poured their very souls into the music, leaving themselves empty. As their gazes intertwined, they all looked toward Anson.

The world fell into a dead silence.

Not a single noise remained.

*Chapter 433: A Magical Moment*

The music stopped, and the world returned to silence, but this time, it was slightly different.

Breathless, emotions surging.

Miles, Connor, Lily—none of them were exceptions. Their chests heaved violently, as if they could clearly feel the burning passion within.

Yet, there was no regret, not even a hint of remorse. Their eyes sparkled with satisfaction and exhilaration, all focused on Anson, their gaze resting upon him.

The lights gently illuminated Anson’s fingertips as he picked up the guitar again, his slender fingers lightly strumming the strings.

Notes rippled out.

But there was no other accompaniment, just a return to tranquility, to simplicity—one guitar, one voice, and that was all. But it was more than enough.

“So, let me go.” (Note 1)

With this simple line, the music stripped back to its purest form, returning to where it all began. Blair felt a shiver run down her spine.

“I don’t want to be your hero, I don’t want to be some big shot, I just want to live my life like an ordinary person.”

The piano’s black-and-white keys gently joined in, like spring water trickling over pebbles, making a soft, melodious sound.

Anson no longer sang; he merely hummed softly.

“Mm… mm-mm-mm…”

Gentle, light, like a lullaby.

The strings of the cello and bass joined once again, long and drawn out, as the piano’s notes danced lightly through the melody, spreading out like mist in the air, leaving a lingering resonance.

In that moment, it felt as though the world had cleared after a storm, and that frail figure who had been running endlessly finally broke through the tempest, once again basking in the sunlight.

Before their eyes, a brilliant golden light unfolded, a sudden clarity.

The performance ended just like that.

Silence.

The studio remained utterly still.

At some point, the entire studio had become packed, overflowing with people. Every member of the “Tonight Show” crew had gathered, even more frenzied than during the opening performance of “Wake Me Up”—not a single person was missing.

The small space was filled to the brim with people, crowded yet orderly, occupying every inch without the slightest chaos. There wasn’t even a sound, as if any movement might disrupt the performance they had just witnessed.

It was packed, but silent.

Even though the performance had ended, the excitement and shock still surged in their minds, blood boiling, hearts pounding, deeply immersed, unable to pull themselves out.

This wasn’t just a song or a performance; it was a movie, a story, about pain, about growth, about life, about refusing to give up.

The vivid and dynamic images unfolded like a scroll in their minds, pulling each listener in with the force of a storm.

Every soul could feel different emotions because everyone is unique; everyone has their own story and their own pain, but in the music, their wounds seemed to find healing.

This is the power of music.

Then.

Blair stood up.

She didn’t wipe away the tears on her face. She just stubbornly straightened her back. She knew she must look a mess right now, but that didn’t matter.

Her eyes, mind, and soul were filled with only one figure—Anson.

If Anson could be so brave in revealing his scars and vulnerabilities, why should she hide? She should also face herself with courage.

So what if she looked disheveled?

At least her soul was resilient and strong.

Blair didn’t say a word; she just started clapping, one clap after another.

Clap, clap, clap.

Finally, the silence was broken.

It was as if the magic in Cinderella's fairy tale vanished at the stroke of midnight, and the rosy glow of the enchanted kingdom faded away, bringing everyone back to reality.

One by one, the audience began to stand up—

Applause followed.

Unlike the novelty and shock of the opening performance, this one delivered a soul-cleansing experience that wasn’t fully released until the performance ended. Waves of emotion surged from the soles of their feet to the tops of their heads, making every cell in their bodies scream. Clapping was the only way to release the overwhelming feelings.

If they didn’t, they might not be able to bear the emotional impact.

So, the entire audience stood up, and the applause thundered.

Blair turned to look at Karen. The two exchanged glances, but neither spoke. They simply shared a knowing smile at their own disheveled states before turning back to Anson. The applause grew louder and more intense.

Clap, clap, clap!

The whole place roared.

Witnessing this, Connor could no longer hold it together. He turned away, lowering his head as he wiped his eyes repeatedly with his hands, trying his best to compose himself, but his shoulders still trembled slightly.

"Ah, so this is the end."

During the performance, Connor was 100% focused, pouring all his emotions into the music, not letting any inner turmoil affect his performance. That’s what true professionalism is; but as soon as the performance ended, all that passion and heat surged back like a tidal wave.

It easily overwhelmed and crushed him.

Connor felt so helpless and vulnerable, but he wasn’t sad, nor did he regret it. He loved today’s stage and was grateful to be part of it. Even if his musical dreams ended today, he had no regrets and could walk away with his head held high.

But… but…

The tears wouldn’t stop.

Lily tried to comfort Connor, but she found her own eyes had reddened. A thousand words stuck in her throat, unable to escape.

She didn’t want it to end. Why did it have to end? She wanted to keep running forward, no matter how long and dark the night was.

She firmly believed that at the end of the tunnel, there would be a ray of light. Even if it was just a glimmer of hope, she believed it could make her life different.

She still wanted to keep running.

Turning her head, Lily saw Miles watching the wave of emotion in front of them with a face lit up, an expression of determination and confidence she hadn’t seen in a long time.

It made Lily’s heart swell with emotion.

And then there was Anson.

Anson, with his chin slightly raised, standing tall, looking ahead, smiling, even though his eyes were red and he looked a bit disheveled, still didn’t hide or retreat. He faced the gazes and scrutiny head-on, showing his true self.

The studio lights fell gently on his shoulders and cheeks, outlining the stubbornness and vitality of youth. The overwhelming surge of emotion around him seemed to fade into the background, framing a grand picture that extended from the music into reality, breaking the fourth wall and awakening a deep-seated passion.

Then, it ignited the entire room.

In a moment of distraction, Lily was stunned.

Clap, clap, clap.

The applause, like a tidal wave, poured down, wrapping the entire scene in a shimmering glow, as if touched by Mary Poppins' magic. Everywhere the eye could see was bathed in vibrant, radiant colors.

Who could have imagined that the "Tonight Show" studio would completely transform into a concert hall, without cheers or whistles, just pure, simple applause, making today's recording a moment to go down in history.

(Note 1: "Hero" by Family of the Year)

Chapter 434: Memories Revisited

The applause roared and reverberated through the air.

Even standing outside the studio, one could clearly feel the surge and intensity of the rolling heat waves, as if the entire world was spinning and boiling over.

Involuntarily, Jay Leno closed his eyes, allowing himself to feel the splendor of the moment with his ears and his heart. His memories began to rewind through the tunnel of time.

It was 1975. He was twenty-five years old, driving alone, embarking on a journey across the North American continent from New York to Los Angeles to pursue a career as a comedian.

In the blink of an eye, more than twenty years had passed. He thought those memories had become distant, something he might never revisit again in his lifetime; but to his surprise, they were still as vivid as ever, as if they had happened just yesterday. With just a glance back, he could see his father and mother standing at the crossroads, watching him leave.

His mother was a maid; his father, an insurance salesman.

They were both ordinary, honest people, so down-to-earth that they never ventured into business, choosing instead to earn their wealth through hard work. Though their lives were modest and meager, they were solid. With this steadfast approach, they raised him and his brother, creating a world of opportunities for them.

When his mother found out that he was planning to go to Los Angeles to pursue a career, she didn’t object. But he would never forget the worried look in her eyes as she watched him quietly, filled with both concern and love. However, in his youthful exuberance, he hadn’t noticed. His mind was solely focused on the joy of chasing his future.

His father and mother had no ambitions beyond hoping that their two sons would have safe and happy lives. They didn’t mind if their lives were ordinary; in fact, they would have preferred them to stay in New York, to remain close, like other Italian immigrant families, bound together.

But in the end, he chose to venture far from home.

At first, he left with great excitement and joy, eager to step on the gas pedal, driven by the thrill of the unknown. He completely forgot the image of his parents standing at the street corner in his rearview mirror until he had been away from New York for only a short while and already began to feel homesick.

Happiness and sadness, joy and bitterness—conflicting emotions tangled together. As he laughed, he suddenly realized that tears were wetting his cheeks, and he found himself sinking into deep loneliness. Pulling over to the side of the road, he laid his head on the steering wheel and sobbed uncontrollably.

At this moment.

Without warning, that fleeting image from the rearview mirror surfaced in Jay Leno’s mind.

Back then, it was just a glance, something he didn’t pay much attention to; but now, over twenty years later, that scene was crystal clear.

Caught off guard, Jay Leno stood there, dazed.

“Jay?”

“Jay!”

It wasn’t until a staff member noticed Jay Leno standing in the hallway, greeting him in surprise, that he was jolted out of his thoughts.

“Jay, are you okay?”

Jay Leno quickly realized that his expression had betrayed his emotions. Although he wasn’t crying, his eyes and facial expression revealed a sense of loss, exposing his true feelings.

This made Jay Leno a bit flustered.

But he managed to regain his composure.

“No, I’m fine.”

After a brief pause, Jay Leno looked at the staff member.

“What a moving performance, don’t you think?”

The staff member followed Jay Leno’s gaze toward the studio. “Absolutely, a real surprise. When we first planned this segment, everyone was worried it might flop; but now, it’s clear they’ve far exceeded expectations.”

A slight smile tugged at the corners of Jay Leno’s mouth.

Noticing this, the staff member asked, “Jay, why don’t you go in?”

Jay Leno shook his head, “No, enjoying music is the same no matter where you are.”

With that, Jay Leno prepared to leave—he needed some private time to quietly process the emotions swirling within him.

After taking just two steps, Jay Leno stopped, turning back to the staff member. “By the way, once the recording is over, arrange some time for the audience to meet the performers.”

Typically, after a talk show recording, the production team might arrange a short interaction with the audience, where guests or Jay Leno himself would shake hands and hug audience members as a way to thank them for their support.

However, this was less common on “The Tonight Show.” Such segments were more suited to morning talk shows, where the audience was more likely to appreciate the interaction. The late-night audience, often tired from work, didn’t particularly seek out social engagements, even if it was just a handshake or a hug.

Occasionally, very occasionally, “The Tonight Show” would include such a segment.

The staff member hesitated, “Are you sure?”

Jay Leno’s smile widened. “Trust me, the audience will be grateful.”

Jay Leno understood the staff member’s hesitation:

Was this really necessary?

Miles, Connor, and Lily were essentially ordinary people. They had no mystique, no star power—just street performers you might find anywhere. Connor was even a supermarket cashier. To the late-night show audience, they held little appeal.

---

As for Anson, the situation might be a bit better, but at the moment, Anson is still just a rookie actor. Jay Leno believes that many female viewers like Anson, but most of the audience present in the studio today are office workers, and they’re mostly men.

In theory, once the recording is over, that should be it; there’s really no need for any extra interaction.

Jay Leno, however, felt a little differently.

He initially thought the same, but after reflecting on his experience and insights just now, he suddenly realized that the situation might be a bit different from what he expected.

Those office workers, just like him, needed this kind of comfort for their tired and worn-out souls—a bit of emotional release, a bit of warm care.

Even if Miles and the others were just ordinary people, it wouldn’t matter. Music is the best bridge.

As it turned out, Jay Leno was right.

Originally, the recording had already ended, and the audience was obediently standing in place, waiting for the production team to arrange their exit. Their eyes never left Anson and the others, and their gazes revealed a sense of connection and longing.

Then, when the production team announced that there would be a handshake and hug session, the studio immediately erupted with excitement, and you could even hear faint cheers.

One by one, two, three, four, five, six—they all started lining up.

After a bit of chaos, the scene was brought under control. Over two-thirds of the audience formed a line that snaked around the studio, unable to contain their excited emotions and eager hearts, inching closer step by step to the bewildered and confused band members.

The funniest part was that even a small number of production team staff joined the line, hoping to get up close and personal with the band members.

Clearly, the band members had no idea what was going on:

This wasn’t part of the plan.

Miles and the others all looked at Anson, but unfortunately, Anson didn’t have any answers this time either. He just spread his hands and said, “Let’s just follow the production team’s instructions.”

Connor was a bit nervous and apprehensive. He’d seen lines before, but they were always at the grocery store checkout. The line in front of him looked oddly familiar, and for a brief moment, Connor felt like he was back in Kansas City on a busy Saturday afternoon.

Is this normal?

---

Chapter 435: Butterfly Wings**

"Welcome to Kroger. Would you like a bag?"

Instinctively, the words for greeting customers flashed through Connor’s mind; however, the expressions on the faces before him were different from the usual.

They were smiling, radiating warmth. One by one, they extended their right hands for a handshake, their eyes meeting his with sincere and bright gazes, emanating warmth and happiness.

A brief exchange, a handshake.

In that fleeting moment, Connor felt a cotton candy-like fluffiness expanding in his chest, filling him up almost instantly.

So this is happiness.

It wasn’t just the cheers or the applause; it was the emotional connection he felt in those eyes and faces. They understood the music, the performance, and found something in the melody that resonated with them.

At this moment, the souls of strangers briefly shared a warm connection—

Not much, but it was real.

This is the power of music.

So, is this a dream? Is he still standing in the busy Kroger store, and everything happening now is just a daydream?

But even if it is a daydream, so what?

He refuses to wake up; he’s willing to stay immersed in this dream, soaking in the happiness.

Only now does Connor finally understand the soul of the song "Wake Me Up." It’s not foolishness, nor naivety, but a deep, passionate love. And suddenly, Connor realizes how much he loves music. Even if it’s just a dream, let the notes flow through his veins as he recklessly flies towards the sun like Icarus.

What’s happening? His smile is blooming, yet his vision is blurring?

And then, Connor sees the girl in front of him.

Through the mist of tears, he can’t make out her face clearly, but he can see that big, radiant smile as she confidently extends her right hand.

He grasps it, firmly.

“I love your bass. Your playing has warmth and color. God, this is the first time I’ve realized the unique charm of the bass.”

“I hope it’s not too late.”

Thump, thump.

Connor’s heart was hit hard. The melodies he played with all his heart and soul were indeed heard. Happiness bloomed like fireworks, and he couldn’t help but ask, “Can I give you a hug?”

The girl smiled brightly. “Of course.”

Connor politely gave the girl a hug, carefully placing his hand on her shoulder, feeling the warmth and breath of the embrace. The warmth of life had never felt so clear.

Words weren’t needed.

Blair could feel the warmth of the hug; Connor was trembling slightly—his fear and fragility, his joy and happiness, his reluctance and regret—all these complex emotions couldn’t be expressed in words but were conveyed in that single hug, gently touching Blair’s heart.

But Blair wasn’t surprised.

She had felt these emotions during the performance.

Indeed, music doesn’t lie.

In a sense, music is a performance, presenting imagined emotions and images in the mind, just like acting.

But in another sense, music and acting are entirely different. Acting is about concealing, while music is about revealing.

Only melodies that come from the soul can truly reach another soul.

No wonder everyone says, if you love music, you must experience a live performance.

Unlike the perfection of a studio recording, the emotional power of a live performance can strike the heart with perfect precision, sending shivers through the soul. It’s an unparalleled experience, truly conveying the pulse of life.

It was like this last time on the streets of Manhattan, and it’s the same now in the Burbank studio.

Blair believes she’s lucky to have personally experienced these moments.

And witnessed it all.

After saying goodbye to Connor, Blair met the innocent and simple Miles, as well as the stubborn and proud Lily. Finally, her steps came to a halt in front of that man.

Anson Wood.

His eyes were so deep yet so clear, his mouth always curved in a roguish smile. If you weren’t careful, you could lose your soul to him, yet you would always miss exploring the deeper possibilities hidden in those eyes.

But the Anson before her looked a bit different from the one in her memory.

---

---

His smile was so light and gentle, it seemed like the slightest touch would shatter it; yet it was also so bright and brilliant, like golden sunlight softly resting in the palm of your hand, its subtle warmth making your hands and body relax.

Just like a butterfly’s wings, fragile but beautiful.

Before she even realized it, Blair had already held her breath.

Maybe, the Anson they had seen before was just a façade, a mirage quietly concealing his true vulnerabilities.

Then, she approached Anson, moving carefully, as if afraid to startle that delicate butterfly.

She had so much she wanted to say—she wanted to share her joy and happiness with Anson, she wanted to help him bear the sadness and loss between his brows, she wanted to tell him that no matter what happens, she would always follow him, and she wanted...

So many words, but the moment she stood before Anson, they all vanished completely. Her mind went blank, and she froze.

Words no longer held any weight.

“Thank you.”

Blair said.

Just those two simple words, but they carried all the unspoken thoughts within them.

Then Blair heard her voice continue to speak.

“Thank you for performing this song. Just... thank you.”

Thank you, Anson, for coming into her life. Thank you for being willing to show your vulnerabilities. Thank you for bravely standing under the spotlight and singing your heart out. Thank you for daring to foolishly keep dreaming. And thank you for telling her that being ordinary is okay. Thank you for everything.

Thank you, Anson, for being a light in her youth, guiding her out of endless darkness and confusion, allowing her to feel her heartbeat again, to feel the warmth and strength of life flowing through her veins.

Quietly, Blair gazed at Anson. She hadn’t said much, yet she felt an overwhelming urge to cry. She awkwardly rubbed her eyes, then burst into loud laughter to cover her embarrassment, happiness rippling through her smile.

Anson was stunned—

For the first time, he realized how powerful a simple “thank you” could be, carrying so much weight, pressing heavily on his chest.

Even though they had never met before, he could feel the complex emotions in that smile.

His own smile, tinged with bitterness and sadness, crept up to the corners of his mouth, and Anson asked, “I’m Anson, and you are?”

Blair was caught off guard, her thoughts unable to keep up, and she instinctively replied, “Blair.”

Anson smiled, “Nice to meet you, Blair.”

Blair froze, her heart swelling with a dull ache, and it took her a moment to realize that she was standing there, silently crying like a madwoman. She hurriedly wiped her eyes, saying, “God, I must look like a lunatic, but...”

But what could she do? She couldn’t stop. The more she wiped away the tears, the more they flowed. Even though she was happy, even though she was smiling brightly, why couldn’t she stop crying?

Blair thought she must be losing her mind.

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