A Love Letter Written to You - Chapter 48

Chapter 48

Early on the seventh day, the professional makeup artists invited by the show arrived and began styling the eight guests.

As the saying goes, time never defeats true beauty.

Even though they were deliberately made up to appear elderly, the guests’ bright eyes, elegant bone structure, and overall presence still shone through. They remained radiant.

The stage had been transformed by the production team — less rustic, more decorated with props, yet it retained the simplicity of the countryside. This subtle blend created an atmosphere that urban dwellers often long for.

Yesterday, the production team posted a livestream preview on Weibo, and viewer numbers in the livestream room were steadily rising.

In the audience sat the villagers — many familiar faces from the earlier sports day — but not a full house. For a concert, the turnout might seem a bit sparse, but for Leng Ying, it significantly reduced her fear of crowded cameras.

Backstage, in the temporary waiting area, Ji Yu held Leng Ying’s hand, admiring her appearance.

“…” Leng Ying was a little shy under her gaze, unusually covering the lower half of her face with her hand. Ji Yu found it fascinating and confirmed softly, “Jiejie, you’re shy.”

Leng Ying: “…”

She cleared her throat, avoiding a direct answer.

Ji Yu thought it over and couldn’t help but giggle foolishly. Oh dear, what’s there to be shy about?

She commented, “It’s just how I imagined you’d look.”

Though styled with elderly makeup, the artists hadn’t intentionally made them look unattractive.

Their grace still remained.

Ji Yu pointed to herself. “I’m old too, see?”

Leng Ying smiled at her. Strangely, she felt a bittersweet sense of reality. Time flows mercilessly. One day, she and Ji Yu would truly grow old, and eventually face death. It’s no wonder emperors and peasants alike have longed for immortality throughout history.

In the grand sweep of time, human strength is ultimately small.

On stage, the host called for Leng Ying.

She stood up and let go of Ji Yu’s hand. “I’m going.”

Standing under the spotlight.

Holding the microphone, Leng Ying took a deep breath.

In front of her were familiar faces, and several livestream cameras.

She felt like she had returned to the past.

But the warmth lingering on her fingers reminded her — she wasn’t alone.

“Before I sing, I’d like to say a few words from my heart.”

Leng Ying knew that some of the livestream viewers were her fans. Funny, really — she still had fans, even though she had been working behind the scenes for so long.

“Director Pan said today’s concert theme is Reminiscing the Fleeting Years. The guests were asked one question: If you were old now, what would be your biggest regret? I’ve been thinking about this for two days.

“Finally, I can stand here and give my answer. If I were old now, my biggest regret would be that I never sent a certain letter. I drafted it when I was very young, and saved it in a drifting bottle feature of a mobile app. I hesitated for a long time about whether to send it. By the time I made up my mind, the feature had been shut down. You couldn’t send or receive messages anymore. So, it became a kind of digital gravestone.”

Backstage, Ji Yu froze completely.

On stage, Leng Ying smiled softly. “I remember every word of that letter. But time has passed, and its content has changed. Today, the intended recipient is here, and I want to tell her the title.

‘A Letter to a Sunflower.’”

Sunflower and loofah.

Ji Yu and Leng Ying.

“When did you first know me? Maybe you’d heard my name before, but the first time you really saw me was probably on that parenting reality show, right? I remember clearly — it was the summer after I graduated from primary school. My mom, Leng Xingming, said there was a show and our family would join. It filmed for half a month, and I met several kids, some my age, some not.

“When I entered junior high, the show aired. Suddenly, everyone knew who I was. At school, people would say, ‘Look, that’s Leng Ying.’ Advertisers came, film crews approached — everything came rushing in. It all felt within reach.

“But with that came a long, silent tidal wave. It wrapped around me and took away my freedom.

“It may sound like I’m whining now. Maybe it was childish whining. But children float, they feel melancholy, and they fall hard. On the way home, there were always cameras chasing me. At busy intersections, people came to ask about my parents. In eighth grade, my parents had a major argument — the media rushed to report their marriage falling apart. After school one day, I wanted a sugar figurine. I didn’t take the car. I walked.

“I bought a rabbit-shaped sugar candy with 50 cents, proud and planning to make it last. Then I turned around and saw dozens of cameras. They asked me if my parents were divorcing, who I’d live with, whether it involved money disputes… Too many questions, all flooding toward me. I fell down the stairs.

“From that day on, the name Leng Ying only appeared for a couple of days, alongside hospital headlines, then vanished. While lying in that hospital bed, staring at the white ceiling, I felt like everyone was wrong. I wanted to face the cameras again and say that the divorce rumor was just a marketing ploy for a new movie.

“But I didn’t. Leng Xingming smashed my phone. Smashed my guitar. I didn’t want to talk anymore.

“Today, I’m not here to blame anyone, but it was a turning point in my life. So when I got a new phone, I liked exploring niche apps. That’s where I found her, on the Lonely Mountain app — the recipient of today’s letter.

“I was facing a blank ceiling. She was in a foreign land, facing unfamiliar surroundings. We were both struggling, but she was stronger than me. She kept me company, yet I could sense from our conversations that she was still growing — toward the light, toward the sun. Unlike me, a loofah hiding in the shade, she was a sunflower.

“She healed me. She always said I healed her, but I believe she healed me more.

“If not for her, Ji Yu would’ve had different friends. The sunflower’s world is vast. But without Ji Yu, Leng Ying’s world becomes very small.

“I feared loss. I didn’t dare to speak. In that old letter, I was bold and brash — said I liked her. When the message failed to send, part of me was relieved. I thought, maybe it’s fate. Being lifelong friends wouldn’t be bad. Besides, how old was I? Teenage love — how could I promise forever?

“When I realized she liked me, I couldn’t believe it. Could such good luck really happen? I kept telling myself that lovers drift apart, but friendships last. She was willing to accommodate me. But feelings don’t accommodate cowardice.

“I’m grateful she came back. Grateful she stood in front of me. Grateful she helped me see through my own lies.”

Leng Ying turned to look past the curtains, at Ji Yu. “Standing here today, I’m sending this letter. Skipping over all the complications, I only have one sentence left to say: Ji Yu, let’s be together.”

Then she turned back to the audience and smiled. “The planned speech time was five minutes. I think I went over, but hey — this isn’t a city venue. There’s no rental fee for going over. Director Pan won’t mind.”

She nodded to the audio engineer to start the track and sang the original piece.

The audience erupted in applause.

She was supposed to leave the stage so Ji Yu could perform. But she didn’t.

Leng Ying walked to the edge of the stage, and a crew member handed her a stool, then her guitar. Ji Yu saw this through the curtain, still dazed. A staffer ran over, telling her Leng Ying was going to play for her, and they would duet at the end.

Ji Yu strode toward the stage, full of purpose, pushing through the curtains with the golden glow of sunset behind her.

She took the mic and met Leng Ying’s gaze.

“My reply is: yes,” Ji Yu said to the camera. “And now, I can say that my life has no regrets. There’s nothing left undone. I hope all of you can also live lives without regrets. Regret may be poetic, but being without it is more fulfilling.”

She began singing the song Leng Ying wrote for her.

Without realizing it, she cried.

After the song, Leng Ying stood and walked over, gently wiping her tears with a sleeve and joking, “Nice foundation. It didn’t smudge.”

Ji Yu chuckled through her tears. Her emotions were soothed, and together, they finished the love song.

A Letter to a Sunflower.

It arrived far too late — and also, just in time.

For Ji Yu, it was a lifelong regret made whole.

For Leng Ying, as the sun set, sending that letter and releasing her burden became a new beginning.

…

Wandering to the foot of Lonely Mountain, seeking Yingying.
Yingying entered my heart.