Chapter Four: A Voice Worn Smooth by Time

The beef set meal Ma Dongmei had brought was generous in portion. Though the taste was average, it was nutritious and perfectly suited to an athlete’s bodily needs. Normally, this kind of food wouldn’t be appropriate for Wang Lei’s condition—he had only just recovered from a severe blood loss and his body was still in need. High-protein nutrition like this might be too much for him to absorb.

Ma Dongmei had always been rather careless in her ways; she’d grown used to bringing Wang Lei food like this, believing what came from the training base would be safer. She hadn’t considered that Wang Lei was now in a weakened state, unable to handle such supplements.

Yet Wang Lei showed no adverse reaction. In truth, he didn’t fully understand his own body’s current state. The fusion of two souls had brought him more than just an accumulation of experience.

This book isn’t the place to debate the existence of souls, nor to argue whether idealism or materialism is correct. Let us simply imagine that the “ordinary” Wang Lei from another world turned all his life’s experiences into points, and added them to the “extraordinary” Wang Lei of this world. Now, Wang Lei was “leveling up” with golden light bursting forth, his progress as rapid as in a web-based RPG.

Even if his “level” hadn’t made him physically larger, it had certainly brought him benefits. If Wang Lei couldn’t digest a bit of beef now, he’d really be letting down the gods of time and space—and this author’s favor.

After the meal, Wang Lei’s stories captivated Ma Dongmei. The heroine even shared her name, which made her all the more curious. Truthfully, Wang Lei’s storytelling was rich and moving, the ending especially so. Ma Dongmei felt she saw her own reflection in the character.

“Brother Lei, did you make up this story? When did you get so good at telling stories? It sounded so real—wonderful, really.”

“Heh, good, right? Your Brother Lei has a whole trove of stories now. I’ll tell you more, one by one, next time.”

“Mhm, I’d like that. Um, Brother Lei, could you sing for me? You haven’t sung to me in two or three years. I want to hear Li Hairen’s ‘Your Story.’”

As she listened quietly to her Brother Lei’s stories, Ma Dongmei couldn’t help but recall the old days. Their families had lived next door to each other in the capital. Outside of training and school, she always pestered Wang Lei to sing for her. Back then, Wang Lei was young and vibrant. Though he didn’t have much time to practice, he could play the guitar quite well, and his voice, while not professional, was certainly good enough to dominate a karaoke night.

But since the accident, he hadn’t picked up his guitar again. With no one else to rely on, Ma Dongmei had cared for him without a second thought, no matter the gossip. When they came to Jinling, she had even brought his guitar.

Taking the dusty guitar from Ma Dongmei, Wang Lei was filled with emotion. Both Wang Leis from both worlds had once owned such an instrument. Now, the strings were slack, and cobwebs clung to the sound hole.

“Meimei, when you’re not using the guitar, you should loosen the strings. Otherwise, after a while, they won’t be any good. These strings are pretty much done for.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Can you still play it?”

Ma Dongmei loved the guitar. As a child, she’d always listened to her Brother Lei play and sing. She’d thought his voice was the best in the world.

“I’ll give it a try, but the sound won’t be great. I’ll sing you a new song, all right?”

“Yes! What new song? Whose is it?”

Seeing her Brother Lei about to sing again, Ma Dongmei was full of delight and excitement. After his recent “suicide,” he truly seemed different. The nearly two-meter-tall young woman instinctively made a cute, childish gesture—she was, after all, just twenty.

“It’s the song from Ma Dongmei’s story just now. I wrote it myself. Want to hear it?”

Wang Lei wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. Others might borrow, so why couldn’t he borrow from himself?

After tuning the guitar for some time, Wang Lei began to play the introduction. In another world, he’d spent ages trying to master the chords for the theme from “Goodbye Mr. Loser,” originally sung by Jin Zhiwen, before finally finding an online guitar arrangement. As an “arts-incompetent” youth, he could be surprisingly persistent and devoted, at least when it came to things he loved.

As the intro sounded, Wang Lei tried to sing.

But as soon as he opened his mouth, both he and Ma Dongmei frowned. His voice was so hoarse, like sandpaper scraping against a wall. Wang Lei stopped abruptly.

“I’ll get you some water. Maybe lunch was too salty—drink more and it’ll get better.”

Ma Dongmei didn’t notice anything unusual, but Wang Lei knew what was wrong with his throat. Damn, it really was a “smoker’s voice.”

The Wang Lei from Earth did indeed have such a raspy voice—from smoking a pack a day. Even a superstar singer would be ruined by that, let alone an “arts-incompetent” youth. But this Wang Lei had never smoked—he came from a family of athletes.

Well, if even soul fusion was possible, he could accept having his voice swapped out. He comforted himself with the thought that he wouldn’t become a singer anyway, so it didn’t matter how his voice sounded.

“It’s fine, my voice just isn’t what it used to be. Listen to the melody, and if you like it, we can sell it to someone else to sing.”

Wang Lei drank the water Ma Dongmei brought.

“Brother Lei, what happened to your voice? If you’re not feeling well, let’s go to the hospital tomorrow.”

Wang Lei’s words made her anxious; nothing mattered more to her than his well-being.

“It’s nothing, don’t worry. Just listen.”

He strummed the guitar, and music filled the air.

“I’ll always be by your side,
Never turning back.
Your every gesture, like my heartbeat,
Pulls at all of me…”

His voice was still hoarse, the melody new in this world—sung with a voice weathered by time, singing a song that time itself had never heard.

The tune wasn’t particularly graceful, but the lyrics were gentle and warm.

Ma Dongmei was moved by the words—they seemed written for her, the melody as if it sang her story.

Wang Lei gradually forgot about his voice. The experiences of both worlds had made him someone new, and the teary-eyed “little” girl beside him moved him with her devotion. He was singing someone else’s story, but also his and Meimei’s.

Music is the vibration of air, but in this moment, it was the vibration of emotion. When both the singer and listener invested their feelings, no one cared about the sound itself, for what they truly heard was each other’s hearts.

Wang Lei, too, was moved by his own emotion, losing himself in the song. The long-forgotten chords became clearer.

A single guitar couldn’t do full justice to the song, and Wang Lei’s voice diminished its beauty, but when everything was wrapped in deep feeling, nothing else mattered.

His arm and fingers ached from the rapid strumming—the song’s end was always intense—but seeing Ma Dongmei’s tear-streaked face, Wang Lei’s own eyes grew red. The person before him was someone worth embracing for a lifetime.

“Brother Lei, you must take care of yourself. Let’s go to the hospital for your throat tomorrow.”

To Ma Dongmei, nothing was more important than Wang Lei.