[GL Mystery] Lost Tracks - Chapter 8

The night in the Ancient Town was beautiful. The moon hung quietly in the sky, its soft light draping the town in a pale yellow veil.

Faint neon lights outlined the ancient buildings, all with rustic wooden structures.

It must have rained recently, as the wood bore damp traces, some surfaces even peeling, showing their age.

The stone path underfoot was solid and smooth, free of dirt, reflecting colorful shadows of the town’s buildings, strikingly beautiful.

Shops lined the streets, selling ethnic crafts. If not for their heavy hearts, Ximo and Dingdang would have strolled happily, but now they had little interest.

Watching couples pass by with sweet, happy faces, Ximo thought how blissful it must be to have a loved one in this romantic town.

She imagined walking hand-in-hand with Xiyan on this stone path, Xiyan’s playful, innocent smile lighting up as she teased, “Sis, I’ll cling to you forever, hehe…”

That was Xiyan’s childhood refrain, now a cherished memory. Ximo truly wished she could stay by her side forever.

Soon, Dingdang led Ximo to the bar.

With her good memory, Dingdang recalled its name and found it after a quick inquiry.

The bar, named M.O., was peculiar—no one knew what M.O. stood for, but Xiyan chose it because “Mo” matched the last syllable of Ximo’s name.

Seeing the bar’s sign, Ximo’s eyes warmed.

Inside, a friendly waiter greeted them, seating them at a small table and handing over the menu.

Ximo scanned the cocktails and snacks listed, then asked the waiter, “Do you have a place for guests to leave messages?”

“Yes, on that wall.”

The waiter pointed to a wall near the bar counter, covered in sticky notes.

Ximo and Dingdang ordered drinks and snacks casually.

Ximo said, “I’ll check over there. Want to come?”

“No, it’s your sister’s message for you. I’ll call my dad to check his status.” Dingdang shook her head.

“Alright, I’ll be back.”

Ximo walked toward the bar. Her tall, striking figure in a white cotton shirt drew eyes.

Xiyan loved that shirt—Ximo wore it a few times before Xiyan claimed it. When Ximo found it neatly ironed in Xiyan’s closet, she brought it to L City.

Even washed, it carried Xiyan’s faint scent when Ximo wore it.

The shirt stood out at night, spotlights highlighting her perfect curves, drawing gazes from around the bar. Ximo didn’t pause, heading straight to the message wall.

She scanned the sticky notes, flipping through them, but found no trace of Xiyan’s handwriting.

Just as she grew anxious, she spotted a thick leather notebook hanging at the wall’s lower right, labeled “Guestbook.”

She took it down, eagerly flipping through pages of lengthy tourist messages. Then, a page of neat handwriting stopped her—Xiyan’s! Her hand trembled as she read Xiyan’s words in her heart.

“Mo, maybe only under alcohol’s sway, in a place where no one knows me, in dim light, do I dare call you this. I don’t remember how many places I’ve traveled. Since I fell in love with traveling, I never counted my steps, but I always counted the days and distance I’ve been away from you. Growing up under your warm protection, we were so close—I never felt unloved because of you. My heart was always warm. My reliance on you felt natural—you’re my sister, right? But when you went to university, I had to learn independence. You said I should have my own life, try to stand on my own. I childishly thought you were abandoning me, or that you had your own life. That year apart, I cried countless nights, hugging your pillow, wearing your clothes, pretending you never left. But I soon realized this would only make you unhappy, burden you. You wanted me independent, so I decided to be—to grow stronger, to one day be your support. I studied hard because you’re so outstanding. If I didn’t try, I’d drift further from you. Finally, I got into your top university. I was so proud—Sis, I’ll cling to you again! I was right—my growth made you happy. As long as you’re happy, I’d do anything. At university, I saw your busy, rich life—head of the research team, student council president. Seeing you was so hard. Sister, how could I catch up? Were you happy that year without me? Why did I crave seeing you daily, longing for our old life? I didn’t want my reliance to disrupt your studies and life. During holidays, I traveled alone. When you offered to join, I laughed, saying I wanted to explore the world, gain experience, not have you nagging. But how I wished you were with me. I knew you had research, and many talented seniors pursued you—better able to care for you than me. We’re different. I have no grand dreams or ambitions, just wanting our simple life in our town’s little house. But you have your pursuits, a great life. I can’t selfishly be your burden just because I’m your sister.”

The last line was blurred, likely from Xiyan’s tears. Ximo’s tears fell, landing on the smudged words.

She quickly wiped them, turned the page, and found a short final note, then blank pages.

It read: “Mo, I don’t want my emotions to trouble you, but I need to say this, things you don’t know. So I leave these words here, letting fate decide. If you pass by and see this, if you let me keep calling you Mo, forgive my lingering hope and selfishness. If that day comes, I really want…”

The rest was blank, but Ximo knew what Xiyan meant. Calming herself, she grabbed a pen, wrote a line, closed the notebook, and hung it back. Turning resolutely to Dingdang, her eyes held not just deep pain but newfound resolve.

Sitting across from Dingdang, Ximo saw the wine glass nearly empty, Dingdang’s cheeks flushed.

“What’s up, drinking so much?” Ximo’s voice was slightly hoarse.

“Oh, nothing, the wine’s just good. Also, your charm’s too much—some guys asked about you. I said nothing, but they kept pestering, thinking a few drinks would loosen my tongue. They underestimated me. I sent them packing. You’re not mad, right?”

Dingdang feigned innocence, sounding sober.

“Dingdang!”

Ximo gave her a look, though it lacked force, her eyes too emotional and red.

Dingdang noticed, staring, but Ximo quickly said, “What’s up with Uncle?” avoiding her tears. Dingdang, muddled by wine, remembered her call with her father.

Propping herself on the chair to sit straighter, her face turned serious, brows knitting.

“Dad’s team left at five this morning. We delayed over an hour, so they’re about two hours behind. But something unexpected happened on the road, delaying them. You won’t believe what they found following us!”

“Did they run into someone?” Ximo asked.

“Bingo, you’re too smart!” Dingdang exclaimed, slapping the table.