Chapter 131 The Muse
Chapter 131 The Muse
Her soft fingertips gently massaged his temples, draining away all of his fatigue.
Melody brushed past him with a cold indifference, treating him as if he were a stranger.
What happened to Melody?
How did she become so heartless and distant toward her own brother?
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These thoughts stirred a growing restlessness in Derrick’s heart and wrapped tighter around him. It then suffocated him with an almost unbearable pressure.
As one of the top singers in the industry, he couldn’t bring himself to admit that Melody’s release had overshadowed his new song.
What’s worse is that Colin, the once–respected musical genius, has switched sides. He was now openly supporting Melody, even sneering at his job.
This was the greatest insult for a musician like Derrick, who loved and revered music with all his heart.
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Yet, the most crushing thing he had endured in the past three years was the recurring criticism that he’ll never surpass his debut album, Surge!
The truth was, Surge wasn’t just his work–it was something he had created together with Suzie.
Suzie was his muse in music.
No artist could resist loving their muse. Suzanna had played piano since childhood, mastering not only the instrument but also excelling in calligraphy, painting, and chess.
Her talent easily rivaled Melody’s.
It should have been Suzanna, not Melody, who was now celebrated as the entire internet’s musical prodigy.
Derrick sudd ly turned to Suzanna and asked, “Suzie, do you remember that arrangement of Night Bloom Nocturne you played three years ago? Where’s the sheet music? Or maybe, can you still play the notes from memory?”
He didn’t notice how Suzanna’s fingers turned even paler, stiffening slightly when he mentioned the music piece.
Three years ago, the biggest inspiration for Surge wasn’t just the sheet music Suzzana had given him.
He also needed inspiration. It was also the night he wandered through the garden, where he overheard her playing Night Bloom Nocturne on the piano.
One hundred years ago, an international piano master composed the piece. Pianists worldwide have reinterpreted it as a tribute.
But that night, Suzzana’s rendition was unlike any he had ever heard. Her music flowed like water from her fingertips, blending with the summer night, the cicadas, and the frogs‘ chorus. It was as though a
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Chapter 181 The Muse
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hidden spring bubbled up from the mountains, sending ripples across the still surface of a quiet lake.
It was as if countless musical fairies were inviting someone to dance, lighthearted yet tinged with a touch of sadness.
Even though Night Bloom Nocturne lamented partings, it was also a celebration of summer nights.
While the original composition was ethereal and otherworldly, Suzzana’s arrangement breathed an air of melancholic sorrow into it. It felt as though there was a fierce emotion brewing beneath the surface, a passionate flame now dimmed by loneliness and grief but still alive with hope for something more.
This intricate contrast–self–inflicted pain without self–pity, restraint paired with rebellious determination
-was the greatest source of inspiration for Surge.
Derrick approached the piano room.
Suzie had been playing the piano since childhood. She was an extraordinary pianist, but as far as he knew, she had never ventured into composing before. When had she learned to arrange pieces like this?
Curious, he opened the door to the piano room. He asked gently, “Suzie, why are you playing the piano alone? The melody sounds so sad…. Are you upset about something? Tell me, and I’ll help you fix it. Let me guess–are you troubled because Mel came back home? Don’t worry, you’ll always be our precious sister. No one can take away the love that’s rightfully yours.”
As he stepped closer, he turned on the light.
But it wasn’t Suzzane he saw standing by the piano.
It was Melody. Her dress, evidently washed too many times, showed signs of wear. Despite the wear, her dress wasn’t cheap. When she returned to the Shields, her suitcase was full of pretty clothes–maybe not all designer brands, but all elegant and well–made.
Yet here she was, a year after returning to the family, still wearing something so worn and tattered. Shields had never deprived her of money. Why was she still dressing so plainly?
She had washed the dress so many times that it had become pale and worn out, but she hadn’t discarded
- it.
Was she still holding onto memories of the poor family that had adopted her?
