Goodness, even the part-time shifts have been changed—are you really planning to wait here all night for him?

　　William Harris scratched his head.

　　He had wanted to confess that he’d just posted a new musician recruitment ad, but clearly, right now Edith Parker didn’t want anyone except Henry Clark.

　　“All right, see you in the practice room tomorrow.” William Harris stretched his arms. “I think I’ve been practicing a bit too much lately—my arms hurt so much I can’t even lift them. I need to go home and put on a pain relief patch. You shouldn’t practice piano tonight either, just get some rest.”

　　“Mm.” As if nothing had happened, Edith Parker patted William Harris on the shoulder and even gave him a smile.

　　He had four canine teeth that were longer and sharper than most people’s, paired with upturned, slightly exposed eyes and rare light-colored irises, creating a wildness that was hard to tame. People with teeth like that always seemed to have dimples—Edith Parker did too, a very faint one, only on the right side, visible only when he smiled.

　　“There’s still time, don’t worry.”

　　The dorm was far away, so Edith Parker rode his bike back. As he passed the crosswalk, he once again experienced auditory hallucinations—a huge crashing sound mixed with the wail of an ambulance. After all these years, he still couldn’t get used to it, so he put on his headphones. By coincidence, the first song that played was one of Henry Clark’s old tracks.

　　Bit by bit, the noise of the hallucination was drowned out by Henry Clark’s voice, and by the time he was almost at the dorm, it had finally disappeared.

　　Edith Parker couldn’t figure it out.

　　How could Henry Clark just stop singing?

　　Observation and analysis had become second nature to him. Every action by anyone had its motives and logic, all of which could be broken down—the more he analyzed, the clearer things became, and the more control he had.

　　He wanted to piece together a complete picture of Henry Clark, like assembling a puzzle. That way, he could persuade him. But maybe he was missing some crucial clue, which was why he could never get what he wanted.

　　He would figure out what it was, eventually.

　　The next day at noon, Henry Clark was wandering aimlessly down West Fourth Street, eating an ice cream. Just as he reached Xishiku Church, he got a message from David Morgan.

　　[David: Didn’t you mention that competition? Crazy Band, right? I asked around, and it’s pretty lively.]

　　[David: I heard one of the investors behind it is Chenghong Entertainment, so you get paid as soon as you make it into the preliminary rounds, and the prize money is even bigger. Even third place gets a million. Besides the huge cash prize, the champion team gets to sign with Chenghong’s big label ZIA, headline at the three major music festivals—pretty much the same treatment you got back then.]

　　Henry Clark typed with the ice cream stick in his mouth.

　　[Fish: Aren’t there tons of these competitions? They all flop.]

　　[David: Don’t say that. I have a buddy in Beijing who owns two livehouses, and one of them got signed by the organizers as a preliminary venue. It’s the place where you had your first gig—Dream Island, remember?]

　　[Fish: Yang Xi, yeah, I remember. Just like you. I’m telling you, is there some special magnetic field with you gays? Like sparrows in Beihai Park, always flocking together.]

　　[David: Watch your mouth, you damn straight guy.]

　　Henry Clark replied with a cheeky big yellow face emoji, which grossed David Morgan out enough to drag the conversation back on topic.

　　[David: …… ]

　　[David: He said the competition format is totally different this time, lots of new tricks. Maybe it’ll actually take off.]

　　[David: Someone’s definitely going to cover your songs.]

　　[Fish: Don’t. How could they be my songs? Watch out for a lawyer’s letter.]

　　He wasn’t like he was right after everything happened. Now, Henry Clark could talk about all that mess calmly, even joke about it with David Morgan.

　　He didn’t care about anything anymore, anyway.

　　[David: Fuck it, they’re your songs!]

　　The weather was great, a gentle breeze ruffling his hair. Not far away, the church’s mass began, the choir’s voices drifting over—ethereal and peaceful. Henry Clark squinted and lay down right on the ground. Passersby all stared, but he didn’t care at all; he just wanted to lie there like a dead fish, soaking up the sun.

　　A sanitation worker nearby saw him and asked kindly, “Hey kid, are you all right?”

　　Henry Clark, eyes closed, shouted back as if singing a folk song, “I’m fine, don’t worry! I’m just sick!”

　　The old man’s broom clattered to the ground.

　　The sunlight was dazzling, and for a moment, surrounded by the noise, Henry Clark felt like he was back in the past—lying on the rooftop in high school, just like now.

　　But then his phone buzzed again, breaking the sense of déjà vu.

　　Knew it.

　　Sending so many messages all of a sudden, dodging around the topic—he was definitely holding something back.

　　[David: I’m telling you, you’d better be careful. Don’t let yourself get used again. That pretty boy went to all that trouble to find you—you know why, right? If he can get a super popular, scandal-ridden ex-star band member to join, even if you don’t win, the buzz alone would be off the charts. With your popularity, your reputation, who wouldn’t want to ride that wave?]

　　David Morgan hadn’t wanted to put it so harshly.

　　But he couldn’t stand to see his buddy make the same mistake again, getting tangled up with another bloodsucker.

　　At the top of the chat window, [The other party is typing…] hovered there.

　　Looks like that hit home.

　　He was probably busy typing out a long rant to vent with him.

　　But in the end, David Morgan only got one sentence.

　　[Fish: You’re right, I really am something.]