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墨書 Inktalez
Qiluo Ling and Choi Ji-woo sat in a luxurious and spacious car, which was speeding out of the city. After about forty minutes, they stopped at a location in the suburbs.
Qiluo Ling got out of the car, and what came into view was a large, old-fashioned Western-style house. Although the house appeared grand from the outside, it seemed as if it had not been inhabited for a long time, presenting a dilapidated and worn-out sight.
The house was situated on a secluded path. Tall French Sycamore trees lined both sides of the road, their broad leaves swaying in the gentle breeze. In front of the house was a small garden, overgrown with grass of varying heights.
Choi Ji-woo also got out of the car and stood at the ornate iron gate of the house, gazing at the old building as if reminiscing about something.
"I haven't been here in ten years," Choi Ji-woo said after a long pause.
"Oh, you used to live here?" Qiluo Ling asked, realizing something.
"Yes, I used to live here," Choi Ji-woo replied. "With my sister Cui Lina. This house was originally built by Jews during World War II."
Choi Ji-woo recounted the history of the house. The original owners were a Jewish couple who had fled from Poland to Korea during World War II. At that time, most of the Jews who fled went to other places, but this family stayed in Korea and lived here. More than ten years later, both Jewish spouses passed away. They left the house to their caretaker, who was Choi Ji-woo's maternal aunt and uncle. Since they had no children, after their passing, they bequeathed the house to Choi Ji-woo. Thus, Choi Ji-woo's family moved in.
They walked into the garden, where moss remained on the stone path leading to the house. The yard was overgrown with wild grass, and branches from the neighboring garden reached out recklessly. Following the slippery stone path, they arrived at the entrance of the house.
The house had two and a half stories. Perhaps due to being dark and damp throughout the year, there was an enduring musty smell in the air; even the bronze railing on the terrace was covered in green corrosion. The outer walls, originally white, had turned gray with age.
Upon entering the house, Qiluo Ling initially thought that such a dilapidated place would be filled with dust, but surprisingly, the rooms were quite clean.
The first floor featured a living room in the center; to its right was a small reception room. The kitchen was on the left side, followed by a bathroom further inside. The house had a wooden structure; most of the red paint on the floors and stairs had worn off, exposing wood grain that had lost its original color, reminiscent of distant memories.
Stepping on the creaky wooden floorboards and climbing up the shiny wooden staircase that showed signs of age brought them to the second floor.
The second floor contained several bedrooms with deep red floors adorned with swirling patterns that evoked a sense of time's passage. In some damp corners of the rooms, parts of the floor had rotted away and even sprouted unknown mushrooms.
"That room is where my sister used to stay," Choi Ji-woo suddenly pointed to a room with large windows facing east towards the garden.
In this short time, he had mentioned his sister for the second time.
Qiluo Ling looked at him but did not speak.
Choi Ji-woo brought Qiluo Ling to the top floor of the building. Upon entering the room, Choi Ji-woo pulled back the heavy gray curtains, and the light flooded in, as if a multitude of sunlight had suddenly been activated.
It turned out to be a large Piano Room. There were two particularly large windows on the north and south sides of the room. In the center of the room was simple yet elegant furniture: a row of deep red wooden sofas, with a black rectangular coffee table in front of them, and a black-and-white television cabinet in front of the coffee table. In the back corner of the room stood a Black Grand Piano, shimmering with a faint glow.
"This attic was originally used for storage, but my sister loved music when she was young, so I transformed it into a Piano Room," Choi Ji-woo said.
Qiluo Ling walked up to the piano and gently brushed her fingers over the surface of the piano lid, feeling an inexplicable thrill in her fingertips.
"Does your sister play the piano well?" Qiluo Ling asked.
"Yes."
Choi Ji-woo's voice came from behind. Qiluo Ling turned around and found him sitting on the deep red wooden sofa.
"Would you like to hear her play?" Choi Ji-woo asked.
"It would be an honor," Qiluo Ling replied.
"The Piano Room has videos of her past performances; let me find one."
Choi Ji-woo quickly rummaged through a drawer in the coffee table and took out a Video Tape, inserting it into the DVD player. With the soft whirring sound of the DVD player reading the tape, images soon appeared on the television screen.
The screen showed a young couple sitting at the black piano, playing music together in perfect harmony. Sunlight streamed through the skylight, illuminating them and the piano. The black-and-white keys rose and fell in an intricate pattern, producing soft and beautiful melodies that flowed like a shimmering silver stream.
Qiluo Ling was momentarily stunned. The Young Woman on screen was indeed the same sleeping woman she had seen in the hospital in Poland. Dressed in a flowing white gown, her delicate figure swayed gracefully with each note played, her face radiating an extraordinary glow.
The young man in the video had black eyes, black hair, and a slender face that exuded an artist's tranquil solitude.
Qiluo Ling closed her eyes; his appearance and figure were all too familiar to her. He still wore a white shirt as usual, with the left sleeve hanging over the piano keys and the right sleeve rolled up to his forearm. The scar on his arm was clearly visible. The scar was a dull color, slightly raised on the surface, shaped like a butterfly.
The notes in Music gradually converged, forming a beautiful and ethereal melody. The lines of the music flowed continuously. Qiluo Ling closed her eyes and listened to their performance; it was indeed an unparalleled and familiar rendition that made her feel as if she had returned to a moment in the past. Her consciousness swayed with the music, completely unaware of where she was...
As the Music concluded, the room fell into a unique silence that followed the end of a melody.
“Miss Qi, I want to ask you a question,” Choi Ji-woo broke the silence.
“Please go ahead.”
“What does music mean? Love or life?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.”
Choi Ji-woo stood up from the sofa and walked to the south-facing window, forcefully opening it. Fresh air immediately rushed into the room.
He stood motionless by the window, pondering for a moment before saying, “As you can see, that young woman is my sister. She is the one you met in Poland. And that young man is her Music Teacher, who is a Jew. His piano playing is exceptional; you must have felt it just now.”
Qiluo Ling nodded.
Choi Ji-woo continued, “Every weekend he would come to teach my sister piano as promised. As they spent more time together, my sister gradually fell madly in love with him, even tattooing a scar pattern identical to his on her arm. But not long after, he mysteriously disappeared without a trace. My sister was heartbroken; in order to find her beloved, she traveled all the way to Poland, and eventually lost contact as well. I searched for many years without any news of her until I met you.”
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