"The Disease Named".

Wiping her hands.

Adjusting her dress.

Putting on the "practice outfit" that Yinci had mentioned during his illness—a floral haori paired with a black-and-gray Yohji Yamamoto hakama.

Flexing her fingers.

Cracking the joints with a series of soft pops.

Walking to the hidden "humidity-controlled cabinet" in the attic bedroom.

With a reverent heart,

she fixed her gaze on her "sacred artifact"—

the **ATELIER ZM-245D PLUS AZ**, a handmade electric bass from Japan.

"Lin Mu, I think when it comes to bass, the big AZ really hits the spot for me. That side-chain-like, robust sound strikes right at the listener's heart with every note. And of course, its milky-smooth, enchanting yet pure appearance speaks for itself.

I have a friend who plays this bass, so I’ve been personally captivated by 'her.' If you have the budget, you should consider bringing her home."

**[Understood.]**

Back then, because of Yinci's words,

she bought a plane ticket, got her passport and visa,

and traveled to Japan just to bring back this genuine, non-mass-produced, handmade treasure.

It was her first time traveling abroad.

Having never systematically studied Japanese, she faced numerous obstacles along the way, relying entirely on English to communicate.

After all, she had earned her place at the prestigious Senyue Bilingual Academy through sheer talent, and her proficiency in English was exceptional. So, despite the challenges, that solo trip turned out to be a success.

As for why she didn’t seek help from Gao Ban, the all-knowing Japanese mentor, it was because this was a "secret" related to Yinci.

It was a secret between him and her.

Gao Ban couldn’t know.

Her sister couldn’t know.

No one could know about the existence of this "sacred artifact."

…

The eternal spotlight carefully encircled the sacred body of the AZ.

Under the glow, "she"

resembled a grand saintess revered in a Gothic cathedral.

The devoted gazes of the faithful,

the unspoken desires buried deep within their hearts,

the indelible marks etched into their souls—

all symbolized "her" lofty, unattainable nature.

—The flower on the high peak, forever out of reach.

"Sister, it’s time to practice."

Lin Mu referred to her as "sister."

Because,

in the girl’s heart, the AZ before her felt more like a "sister."

Was it subconscious? Or a sense of security?

She couldn’t quite explain it.

All she knew was the lengths she had gone to conceal the existence of this AZ—efforts that would seem absurd and baffling to most.

—All the instruments downstairs were a facade.

—The simple renovation of the secret room was done entirely by herself.

—She always practiced late at night, locking the shop doors to ensure no one could possibly see.

—When taking the saintess for maintenance, she went fully incognito, only seeking female luthiers, and even when carrying the heavy case, she refused to use a less protective gig bag, opting to hold it close instead.

It was now 1 a.m.

Time to practice.

Of course, she couldn’t use the saintess every day.

Such a "sacred artifact" wasn’t meant for mere "practice."

As Yinci once said:

"You need to distinguish between a 'practice instrument,' a 'playable instrument,' a 'performance instrument,' and a 'concert instrument.' There’s also one more category, which I call a 'lifetime companion,' or perhaps a 'soulmate.'

With 'her,' all fatigue, hardship, and obstacles will vanish.

I’m not sure if you’ll ever encounter such a 'her' in your lifetime, but given your talent, objectively speaking, you’re among the best musicians out there. The first four tiers of instruments are well within your reach."

**[Yes.]**

For Lin Mu,

Yinci’s words were "absolute truth."

Truth in the most absolute sense.

Even though he had quietly left.

Even though he had faced the greatest obstacle of his life.

Even though he had never promised to return.

Even though the light he once radiated had dulled.

Lin Mu didn’t care.

Lin Mu believed, firmly believed—

"With faith in your heart, even if the path ahead is thorny, everything will eventually be alright."

To her, Yinci was a "lifetime deity."

A deity would never abandon their believers.

Absolutely,

absolutely not.

This was her unwavering belief.

……

Carefully retrieving "sister," she picked up the extravagant pedalboard.

Carrying them both, she descended the stairs.

Arriving at the small stage she had built for herself.

**[Yinci: Sometimes, a solo performance can be deeply moving. After all, those who walk the path of music are often lonely. If you wish to overcome this loneliness, why not build a stage just for yourself and dance with it? That way, loneliness becomes your companion.]**

—"When you’re with loneliness, you’re no longer lonely."

The words of a deity were often hard to grasp.

But after putting them into practice, she understood—this was "truth."

For Lin Mu, "practicing the words of her deity" gradually became the greatest meaning in her life.

Though, this was limited to the time before he left.

……

In truth,

playing alone wasn’t so bad.

"Even if I’m the only one left."

She could still practice well.

"Even if no one is listening."

She could still confide in herself.

"At the quietest moments, gently knocking on the door of your own heart."

A smile crept onto Lin Mu’s lips,

a smile that only appeared when she was alone, thinking of his words.

Slipping on the Egyptian cat strap,

plugging in the cable, stepping on the pedals,

turning on the amp, and unlocking the screen of the MacBook on the high table.

From Logic Pro, she selected the project named "Practice," opened it,

and glanced at the list of backing tracks for her daily practice covers.

Tapping the play button.

Starting with the first song they shared—"Tokyo Teddy Bear."

……

……

Inside the soundproofed, acoustically-treated Twilight Café,

the Gothic antique clock held its breath.

The three solid wooden barriers, locked tight, resembled the triple gates of another dimension.

The surround sound system, high-end monitor setup, vintage pedalboard, and the dim, dreamlike stage lights.

The full suite of Vivie’s "Jellyfish" simulation, "Kangaroo" compression, "Seagull" overdrive, "Owl" preamp—

paired perfectly with Yinci’s "Black Cat" overdrive, "Red Cat" distortion, "Dolphin" reverb, and "Athena" boost.

If,

if she could become his "bandmate."

If.

If she could perform on the same stage as him.

Then.

Their perfectly aligned aesthetics,

their perfectly matched tones,

their equally high-end gear,

and her skills, not inferior to his—

could they create a new "miracle"?

Yes.

The Lin Mu who practiced through the night every day,

how could she lose to the "deity" who had suddenly fled?

How could she not surpass him?

She was already learning music production, shedding strands of hair in the process,

cutting her long hair from waist-length to shoulder-length.

Venturing into the daunting realm of high-level music theory, she marched forward alone, undeterred.

In terms of gear, while Yinci had the legendary Schecter NV3, she had the sacred Atelier ZM-245.

In terms of skill, while Yinci could handle BPM 200 ACG rock tracks, she had already mastered slap bass, tapping, three-finger plucking, and four-finger plucking.

In terms of taste, Neru’s "Tokyo Teddy Bear," Mayonaka’s "Biting the Second Hand," Yoasobi’s "Racing into the Night," Yorushika’s "Bomber"—

song after song, quietly nestled in her "practice playlist," **[all of them Yinci’s favorites.]**

"With the eyes of the dead, holding a bomb, staring at the opening. Goodbye, humanity. I’m going to blow you all away."

Yinci.

Why do you love songs like this?

What were you thinking the moment you hit the like button?

Perhaps I didn’t understand back then,

but now,

after thousands of hours of practice, I’ve finally grasped it completely.

I understand you now.

I know what kind of person loves songs like this.

I know what kind of advanced harmonies can move your "golden ears."

I know you can hear 20 tracks simultaneously and isolate any one of them.

And I know you’ve cried listening to these songs, moved by the emotions the composers poured into them, though you’ve never said it aloud.

I also know about your performances, the state you’re in when you play the piano, how long you’ve practiced each piece, whether you’re confident or insecure.

I know it all.

I know everything.

Stop running away, Haru.

You’ll come back.

From the moment I saw your "original heart," I was certain of it.

Someday, you’ll come back.

You won’t abandon "music," just as you wouldn’t discard the "treasure" you hold dearer than life itself.

You’ve probably been giving them the cold shoulder for a while now, and the pain and guilt in your heart must be growing day by day, right?

You’ve probably made up your mind not to touch music, not to compose,

yet in this rotten, messed-up life of yours, you must feel an excruciating pain every single day and night, don’t you?

No matter how hard reality hits you,

no matter how heavy and high the obstacles ahead may seem,

even if you can’t see the end in sight,

you must never give up.

“These are the words you once told me.”

Have you forgotten them?

…

…