A Love Letter Written to You - Chapter 36

Chapter 36

 

Since it was an “impression drawing,” there was naturally no need to replicate the subject’s features with absolute accuracy—not even the facial features needed to be included. After all, it was an impression! Drawing a rabbit, a cat, or even a tiny ordinary flower could all be claimed as “my impression of you.”

 

Leng Ying planned to take a shortcut.

 

She had little confidence in her ability to draw portraits blindfolded… so she decided to make the most of the word “impression.”

 

A black satin ribbon covered her eyes as she gripped the pen. In her heart, the tune of her most childish and emotionally rich piece of music began to float. She had composed it when she was very young and felt it carried unusual significance, so she had only ever shared it with Ji Yu.

 

But… this was an impression drawing.

 

Leng Ying closed her eyes. The sheet music was memorized deep in her bones, glowing faintly in the darkness behind her eyelids. She clung to that sliver of light and placed her pen on the drawing board.

 

She could write the music out from memory—every note ingrained in her.

 

Director Pan had given them a time limit of ten minutes.

 

He said they needed time for audience voting afterward and didn’t want the guests eating cold food. Ren Meng commented sarcastically, “Getting a few warming devices wouldn’t break the budget.”

 

Director Pan just smiled without saying anything.

 

At the nine-minute mark, he’d give a heads-up. At ten, he’d tell everyone to stop drawing.

 

Leng Ying finished much faster than she expected—nowhere near nine minutes.

 

She put the pen down and removed her blindfold. Beside her, Ji Yu was still drawing, holding a sketch pencil.

 

Leng Ying: “…”

 

Ji Yu was being too honest.

 

The girl on her drawing board had her head slightly lowered, holding a musical instrument that was gradually taking shape under her pencil strokes…

 

Leng Ying could recognize it—that was her.

 

In just a few short minutes, Ji Yu had already fleshed out her sketch to this level. Even without detailed linework, the character’s features were recognizable. So familiar, so sure in each stroke, that Leng Ying couldn’t help wondering:

 

How many times had Ji Yu drawn her?

 

The girl in the drawing looked sixteen or seventeen. Leng Ying remembered—that was how old she was when she and Ji Yu had their first video call across continents.

 

Separated by time zones of day and night, they met on screen.

 

At the time, Leng Ying was living in Leng Xingming’s house. With her aunt and uncle away filming, she had free time.

 

She took Ji Yu on a tour of her garden through video.

 

The flowers brushed against her skirt, soft and white; clouds drifted across the sky, trailing long tails behind them.

 

She plucked a leaf and played a local Haicheng melody for Ji Yu.

 

Leng Ying smiled faintly.

 

They had known each other for so long, been through so much, that it was easy to slip into memories no matter when or where.

 

But too many memories could be poisonous.

 

Replaying such sweetness repeatedly—it was hard not to start hoping again.

 

But Leng Ying didn’t dare to.

 

Good things are fragile, like glass. Even relationships that seem rock-solid can shatter over the smallest thing. That’s just how the world works.

 

If she didn’t want to lose Ji Yu, the safest choice was to stay friends.

 

But sometimes, Leng Ying felt that wasn’t fair to Ji Yu.

 

And sometimes, she felt it wasn’t fair to herself.

 

Life is only about 30,000 days. A limited number of hours. If you suppress your desires and break your courage, can you really say you’ve lived fully?

 

Leng Ying thought… probably not.

 

So, she was willing to play deaf.

 

As long as Ji Yu didn’t say anything, and she didn’t hear it—

 

They could stay friends forever.

 

Her thoughts drifted far away. Director Pan rang the first bell. A moment later, he rang the second.

 

This time, he spoke: “Ten minutes are up! Pens down! Even if you’re not finished, stop!”

 

The black blindfolds came off. In front of everyone was the masterpiece they had created in ten short minutes.

 

Ji Yu sat up straight, trying to sneak glances at everyone’s work, one by one. She still thought hers and Leng Ying’s were the best.

 

Her gaze landed on Leng Ying’s board. “I knew you’d draw this.”

 

Leng Ying sighed. “You know me too well.”

 

And I know you too well.

 

The others had wildly different creations. Shengjianbao had drawn a bunch of autumn swordfish swimming in water. Qiudao Fish drew a cute cartoon portrait of her. Ren Meng casually sketched a mint plant. Bo Xin drew a lemon dotted with tiny black specks. Ji Youqin drew two stick figures holding hands. Luo Qing just drew one little person with an angry anime-style popping vein in the corner.

 

Director Pan laughed. “Looks like everyone’s creative energy is off the charts. Alright, we’ll open the voting link. It’ll be open for ten minutes. Meanwhile, feel free to talk about your artwork!”

 

“Are you trying to start an international art exhibit or something, Pan?” Ren Meng quipped again, then added, “She reminds me of mint. Likes to eat it, so I drew mint.”

 

“?… I remember Ren Meng said in an interview she kept plants at home”

 

“Sis, no need to be so polite. That interview said she only kept mint because it was easy to care for and edible”

 

“Now I feel like she totally played me—”

 

Bo Xin explained briefly, “It’s her name.”

 

Ren Meng immediately tried to erase it: “Those little black dots look awful.”

 

“Ahem, no editing the pieces right now. Gotta wait until voting’s over,” Pan quickly intervened.

 

Qiudao and Shengjianbao shared some light thoughts. Ji Youqin snorted, refusing to explain. Luo Qing shrugged and gave a half-hearted answer.

 

Director Pan turned to his star guests: “Leng Ying, Ji Yu, any background to your work you’d like to share?”

 

Leng Ying explained, “It’s a piece of music.”

 

“I already tried—played it out and it sounds beautiful, but I couldn’t find a match anywhere. Is it a new release?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“It was my first composition at a turning point in my life,” Leng Ying said. “I once gave it to Ji Yu. I think… this is her impression drawing.”

 

Who said sheet music couldn’t be a drawing?

 

She smiled softly.

 

“!!!!”

 

“Is this the same piece she once said she wouldn’t share? Why now?!”

 

“It’s just a short excerpt,” Leng Ying added. “To hear the whole version depends on whether Ji Yu allows it.”

 

Ji Yu shook her head without hesitation. “No.”

 

Leng Ying shrugged: “See, she said no.”

 

“Enough already, can y’all stop flirting in front of me 😭”

 

“I’m stuffed on dog food at this point”

 

Director Pan spoke up on behalf of the audience: “Can we at least hear the short excerpt? What instrument do you need?”

 

Leng Ying glanced at Ji Yu, then replied, “Guitar.”

 

Guitar was a common instrument. The crew quickly brought one out. Leng Ying tested it—it had seen more use than her own, long-neglected one.

 

But it was fine.

 

She sat on the stool, the stage lights evenly cast over everyone. She saw Ji Yu tilting her head, waiting for her.

 

Guitar. Guitar.

 

Smashed, revived, mended.

 

It, like music, had an enduring life force. Vibrant and strong.

 

Melody flowed from Leng Ying’s fingertips.

 

It lasted less than a minute. But as the final note fell, everyone was still entranced.

 

That kind of happiness, fulfillment—sunlight filling every dust particle in the air. Darkness a thing of the past. The dew on the flowers evoking deep tenderness.

 

“…I feel so happy listening to this…”

 

“I cried…”

 

“Can you please release the full version? I’ll bless “Ying-Yu Forever” every time I listen…”

 

“LMAO careful, Ji Yu might actually be moved by that comment”

 

“I fully recognize Ji Yu’s ownership of this song, fully support the science and necessity of Ying-Yu being real—please, let me hear the full thing 😭”

 

Ren Meng’s voice sounded a bit dazed: “Does this song have a name?”

 

Leng Ying lowered her eyes, gently lifting her fingers from the strings. “Dream.”

 

A dream she had in the hospital. In the dream, she grew up alone—

 

But someone ran toward her.

 

The dream vanished when she woke.

 

But this… wasn’t a dream.

 

She had really met a friend.

 

…At the moment she was close to breaking.

 

And suddenly, living didn’t seem so unbearable.

 

She looked again at Ji Yu’s golden hair, reached out, and touched it.

 

Soft.

 

Cool.

 

Warm.

 

“…” Ji Yu was speechless for a long time. Then, speaking of her drawing, she said, “She looks beautiful when she’s creating.”

 

Sometimes, so beautiful it scared Ji Yu to get too close.

 

Even when she could hear the voice in Leng Ying’s heart.

 

“I give up, you guys are truly pure love…”

 

“Pure love wins again. Golden hearts everywhere 💛💛💛”

 

“In a way, it’s a two-way story already… fine, I’ll vote for them”

 

In the end, even though the program had designed four meal set options to rank, it didn’t matter much—

 

All eight ended up sharing them.

 

Director Pan stared at the camera, sighing. “Why can’t we create more conflict?”

 

The assistant director had a different view: “Warm, cozy slow-variety shows have a big audience too.”

 

“That’s true,” Pan nodded. “I know. It’s just… sometimes when I go online and see certain comments, I get a little restless.”

 

Staying true to your heart is difficult.

 

Pan decided not to obsess over it and instead began planning the next day’s task. A light bulb went off: “Let’s give them some objective conflict tomorrow?”

 

“Objective conflict?”

 

Pan was reviewing footage, pausing at Leng Ying playing the guitar. With conviction, he said, “We’ll add a round of Truth or Dare.”

 

“Got it. I’ll work out how to add it.” The crew had already planned to explore deeper interpersonal dynamics on Day 5 through games—adding Truth or Dare fit perfectly.

 

Leng Ying requested to keep both her and Ji Yu’s artworks from the production team.

 

Ji Yu suggested brightly, “We can frame them and hang them up at home~”

 

Leng Ying smiled, “Sure.”