“I discovered two earth-shattering secrets today!”

“What?”

Henry Clark played the last few notes and said solemnly, “First, turns out Christmas is celebrated in the summer too.”

He clearly remembered the slight frown and puzzled look in his mother’s eyes at the time.

“Second, Santa Claus is actually a woman!”

Thinking of these things, Henry Clark started to get a headache, a really bad one.

He got up, took a can of beer from the fridge, drank more than half in one go, sat back down on the floor, and sent a message to his boss Brian Smith.

[Xiaoyu: Brian, didn’t you have your cousin help me sell a guitar on a second-hand website last time? I found another one while moving these past couple of days.]

He wrote, deleted, rewrote, and finally, with a sigh, hit send and tossed his phone aside.

[Xiaoyu: Sorry to trouble you, but could you help me sell it?]

He drank too much. At four in the morning, Henry Clark woke up with stomach pain.

Unable to fall back asleep, he simply got up and called David Morgan, as if the two of them hadn’t just argued that evening.

“Are you out of your mind!” David Morgan cursed furiously, but picked up instantly.

Neither of them mentioned the letter.

“Yeah, maybe.” Henry Clark broke off four antacid tablets, shoved them into his mouth, chewed a few times, and mumbled, “Hey David, do you remember that music festival I went to before?”

David Morgan’s voice was sleepy and annoyed, “You played so many festivals when you were popular. How should I know which one?”

“The one by the Aranya beach. Summer, there was a torrential downpour in the middle, the wind was crazy, and a guy’s flag in the crowd got blown up into the sky.”

“Oh— you wore that floral shirt that day. Who picked your clothes? They were fucking ugly.” After cursing, David Morgan suddenly remembered something and woke up completely, “I remember now! When we got back, you insisted I draw for you. I worked like one of those police sketch artists for two hours and didn’t get a cent. I really am a sucker!”

“Yeah, that drawing.” Henry Clark still kept it, “I asked you to draw his eyes. I just dreamed about them again while sleeping.”

Actually, Henry Clark had always found this whole thing baffling, but when it really happened to him, it was even more unbelievable.

How could someone be so obsessed with a pair of eyes?

That day was probably the most perfect day of his life, the peak of his parabola.

[Unordered Corner] had just released a new song, announced their tour on the grand stage of a music festival, tens of thousands of people crowded below, all looking up at him. The performance was nearly flawless, and his impromptu solo was better than ever before.

Standing on the speaker, drenched in rain, at that moment Henry Clark owned the whole world.

A wild wind howled, tearing raincoats off many in the crowd, whipping up a dazzling wave, everyone bedraggled but ecstatic. Henry Clark smiled as he listened to the other band members talk, but his gaze was caught by a hat blown over in the crowd.

The hat’s owner wore a mask. He looked up, black short hair tousled by the wind, revealing a pair of light-colored eyes.

Those eyes were like sharp hooks, staring straight at him, the transparent irises reflecting all the stage lights. In that instant, Henry Clark felt like he’d collided head-on with a wolf lost in a sea of people.

In a blink, that person vanished like a phantom.

Henry Clark was almost stunned on stage, couldn’t even keep time for the next song, and nearly jumped off the stage into the crowd to look for him, wanting to pull out that sharp hook. But he didn’t have time—bassist Charles Reed grabbed his arm.

This strange behavior even became “solid evidence” for later rumors about drug use.

Later, he tried all sorts of ways, even got the organizer to give him the photographer’s hard drive, but after watching everything, that person was nowhere to be found.

Was it really just a hallucination? But he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol before going on stage that day, was more clear-headed than ever.

Even real memories can fade, so the moment his plane landed in Beijing, Henry Clark found David Morgan and, relying on his description, had him draw it.

At the time, David Morgan didn’t get it, drawing while gossiping.

[You like him? It’s just a pair of eyes, how much could you possibly like them?]

Henry Clark thought seriously.

[It’s like, I’m so annoyed I want to blow up the earth, but I’d let him escape on a spaceship first, then go find him after I’m done.]

David Morgan was speechless.

[You’re fucking crazy.]

“It’s been years and you’re still dreaming about it, you’re nuts.” After cursing, David Morgan started complaining again, “I finished that drawing for you at two in the morning. And you even made me give you a tattoo, my eyes could barely stay open!”

Henry Clark raised his hand and touched his Adam’s apple.

In his dreams, he could barely recognize that rebellious, high-spirited version of himself, but he could still clearly remember those few seconds of daze.

The impact of that moment was so strong that, back then, he almost irrationally wanted to stay.

Almost self-mockingly, Henry Clark chuckled softly, “Yeah, what’s up with me, dreaming about it again.”

Sternstunde—the most dramatic and pivotal moment in the trajectory of a life.