101: Hush money!

“Morphine?”

Lin Que swallowed the last bite of his sesame bun,

slowly wiped his mouth with a napkin, his eyes full of amusement:

“If Jian Shen’s millions of fans heard that, they’d probably drown you in spit.”

“A large fanbase doesn’t mean they’re right.”

Ye Xi snorted lightly and turned off her phone screen.

She cupped the still-warm soup bowl with both hands, as if drawing warmth from it.

Her voice dropped, losing the earlier teasing tone,

replaced instead by a cold, serious sincerity.

“In The Miracles of the Namiya General Store, everyone says Grandpa Namiya was offering salvation.

But what about Kero, the one who wanted to be a musician?

Grandpa Namiya encouraged him to stick to his dream, and what was the result? He died in a fire.”

Ye Xi lifted her eyes, her gaze stabbing directly at Lin Que:

“Although the book says his song lived on and his spirit achieved eternal life.

This is just like a last meal given to a death row inmate.

No matter how lavish the meal, it doesn't change the fact that the ending is death.”

“The so-called ‘worry solver’ is just finding an excuse for desperate people to keep living.

If that's not Morphine, what is it?”

Lin Que looked at her.

The dim yellow light of the small shop softened the contours of her profile,

but sharpened the edge of her words.

A piano player, a young lady from a prominent family restricted by rules,

yet she could see through the essence of the “Jian Shen” identity in one glance.

This was much more interesting than her sneaking plum blossom cake in the alley.

Lin Que leaned back, resting against the slightly greasy chair back,

crossing his fingers over his abdomen in a comfortable posture.

“Then do you think a doctor giving painkillers to a terminally ill patient is wrong?”

Ye Xi froze for a moment.

“You say Jian Shen is a liar? Hmm... I suppose you could say that!”

Lin Que chuckled, his tone relaxed.

“But the vast majority of people in this world can't fight despair by controlling Vicious Ghosts like Yang Jian.

They are ordinary people suffocating under the weight of the ghosts.”

He paused.

“For ordinary people, pain is pain.

At this point, do you hand him an axe that might kill the ghost or himself,

or do you first give him a dose of Morphine so he can get a good night's sleep?”

Lin Que looked out at the bustling street outside the door:

“This world is essentially one giant ICU.

Jian Shen is just a doctor making rounds, who doesn't have many elixirs of life in his pocket, only a few painkillers.

So what if it's a lie? At least the patient can walk away smiling, with some dignity.”

Ye Xi stared at him blankly.

Her beautiful apricot eyes

reflected Lin Que’s young yet mature face.

His words sounded somewhat rogue,

yet they revealed a profound understanding and compassion for the ways of the world.

“You...”

Ye Xi opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to refute him, but couldn't find an entry point.

After a moment, she suddenly lowered her head,

poked the few remaining vermicelli strands at the bottom of the bowl with her chopsticks, and mumbled softly:

“Nonsense. But I actually think it makes some sense.”

“Exactly.”

Lin Que picked up the vinegar bottle on the table and shook it.

“It's like this duck blood vermicelli soup; the authentic kind needs chili oil.

If you insist on clear soup for health, you're just making trouble for your own appetite.”

Ye Xi was amused by his haphazard analogy and was about to say something,

when an abrupt ringtone cut the air between them.

It was Yiruma's Rain's Mark,

a piece Lin Que often listened to while writing in his studio.

The shift from A-flat major to A major perfectly evoked the quiet stillness after a rainy night,

but it felt out of place in the small shop filled with the smell of duck oil.

Ye Xi’s expression instantly changed.

The lively, agile look she had moments ago receded like a tide,

replaced by a tense, obedient demeanor that seemed almost like a reflex.

She quickly pulled her phone out of her bag; two words flashed on the screen:

[Father].

“I... I have to go.”

Ye Xi didn't answer the call, quickly silenced the phone, and stuffed it back into her bag.

She stood up, pulling the thick scarf back up,

covering most of her face, and pressing down the creamy-white hat.

In an instant, the lively girl who had just been complaining that “Jian Shen is a liar” vanished,

and the aloof, noble, yet somewhat wooden piano prodigy returned.

“Family check-in?”

Lin Que asked the obvious.

“Mhm.”

Ye Xi answered vaguely.

She rummaged through her bag for her wallet, but suddenly paused.

Although the ringtone was silenced,

the vibration continued to buzz, like an invisible urging.

“That...”

Ye Xi bit her lip, glancing constantly toward the door, speaking rapidly.

“Emergency help, please.”

Lin Que raised an eyebrow: “?”

Ye Xi pointed awkwardly at the vibrating bag:

“I didn't bring cash, and the card linked to my WeChat... has spending alerts, and my dad will see the location.”

Ye Xi bit her lip, glancing constantly toward the door, speaking rapidly.

“Could you pay for me? I'll transfer it to you using my secondary account?

I have private savings, but they're all in my secondary account, and I haven't withdrawn them... Ah, there's no time to explain!”

As she finished, her exposed eyes blinked,

carrying a hint of cautious pleading.

Lin Que understood. Without speaking, he pulled out his phone,

brought up the QR code, and pushed it onto the table.

“Beep.”

Ye Xi quickly scanned it with her private phone, which was covered in cartoon stickers.

A friend request immediately popped up on the screen.

Lin Que looked closely and almost couldn't hold back his laughter.

The applicant’s profile picture was a cute cartoon rabbit playing the piano,

but it was jarringly carrying a large iron hammer on its back, and the username was even more shocking—

[Fugitive Beethoven].

Lin Que looked up at Ye Xi.

This girl, dressed in designer clothes, with a cold and noble demeanor,

was secretly using this username?

The contrast was incredible.

“Accept it.”

Ye Xi shook her phone, her voice low and rushed.

“I really have to go. Oh, right, I haven't told you my name yet.

I'm Ye Xi. Thank you for the soup today... and your nonsense.”

Having said that, she didn't wait for Lin Que's response, nor did she dare look back,

turning quickly, lifting the door curtain, and rushing into the cold wind.

The padded door curtain swayed a few times, letting in a gust of cold air.

Lin Que looked at the empty seat,

then at the profile picture of the grumpy rabbit on his phone, and lightly tapped “Accept.”

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Transferred 20.00 yuan.

[Fugitive Beethoven]: Keep the change, consider it hush money! Don't tell anyone I drank duck blood vermicelli soup! [Cleaver][Cleaver]

Lin Que looked at the conspicuous red packet and couldn't help but laugh out loud.

[Mu Que]: No need for hush money. Just treat me to plum blossom cake next time. Remember, the one at the shop that wasn't open.

After sending the message, he placed his phone face down on the table and leaned back in his chair.

“Boss, check please! Count both orders together.”

“Coming right up!”

The owner hurried over, wiping his hands.

“That's thirty-six altogether.”

After paying, Lin Que stared at the glaring “20.00” on his screen, exasperated yet amused.

This young lady.

Eighteen yuan for the meal, twenty yuan for hush money.

So her big secret about the duck blood vermicelli soup was only worth two yuan?

After paying, Lin Que was about to put his phone back in his pocket,

when his peripheral vision caught several shadowy figures flickering on the paper window.

The alley had only been filled with the sound of the wind,

but now hurried footsteps and hushed conversations could be faintly heard.

Lin Que's heart suddenly leaped. A feeling of foreboding arose, and before he could even straighten his collar,

the padded door curtain was violently flung open from the outside.

Blinding camera flashes exploded instantly, making it impossible to open one's eyes!

“He's here!”

A suppressed shout of excitement broke the peace of the small shop.

Customers around the shop looked up in confusion toward the commotion.

Immediately after,

a burly man carrying a camera and a reporter holding a microphone rudely squeezed inside,

The lens and the microphone were aimed straight at Lin Que like two black cannon barrels.

“Student Lin Que! Regarding your public comments on the forum criticizing Editor-in-Chief Fang as ‘Fraud,’ do you have any explanation?!”

“We heard you refused to wear the representative badge. Is this a public defiance of the Provincial Writers Association?”

...