Chapter 37: Men Shouldn't Be Ashamed to Cry (3)

“All right, young master, I’m leaving now. Promise me you’ll take good care of yourself, will you?” Huniu looked at Ye Lang, her expression tinged with reluctance and concern.

Take good care of myself for me, will you?

This simple plea touched Ye Lang’s heart deeply, stirring feelings that words could not describe.

“All right, I promise I will…”

Slowly, Ye Lang watched as the group escorting Huniu faded into the distance. Even after the carriage carrying her disappeared from sight, he stood at the gate, lost in thought. If Ye Lanyu hadn’t spoken up, he might have stood there even longer.

“You can’t bear to see her go, can you? Do you regret not being just a little more selfish?” Ye Lanyu stood gracefully beside him, speaking softly.

“What is there to miss? I can live just fine on my own. Selfishness? In my dictionary, there’s only selfless devotion!” Ye Lang’s reply was almost defiant, but anyone could see he was forcing a brave front.

“All right, let’s not talk about that. I’m just curious—since you treasure her so much, why didn’t you see her off yourself?” Ye Lanyu didn’t want to provoke him further. Seeing his pain, she felt uncomfortable as well.

“I wanted to, but would you have agreed?” Ye Lang countered.

“No!” Ye Lanyu and Long Anqi’s answer was immediate and resolute. With Ye Lang’s current state, how could they let him go out? They would never permit it.

“Not only would you not agree, she wouldn’t have agreed either.” Ye Lang gazed at the spot where Huniu had vanished, his voice calm.

She wouldn’t agree—not only for the reasons Ye Lanyu and Long Anqi imagined, but for others as well. She didn’t want her clansmen to see Ye Lang; she couldn’t predict how they would treat her young master.

Ye Lang could guess this, too. He remembered how, when Huniu had spoken of her family before, he had once suggested visiting her home, but she had immediately refused—something quite rare for her, given her usual obedience.

Indeed, Huniu admitted she was Ye Lang’s slave, but would her people recognize that status? It was hard to say; they might consider it an insult and act against Ye Lang.

Perhaps, after understanding the whole story and learning he was her benefactor, her tribe would spare him, but that was uncertain. So she would not let him take that risk—she would only allow him to visit after ensuring everything was safe.

Setting all that aside, even without such reasons, if Ye Lang were to escort her home, Huniu would no doubt insist on sending him back, and so it would go in endless cycles. Only if Ye Lang didn’t see her off could she truly return home.

Turning away, she left…

“Huh?” Ye Lanyu suddenly noticed, as Ye Lang turned, a faint ripple of water elemental energy—could it be…

“Brother, are you crying? Haha, you’re crying…”

Indeed, Ye Lang’s eyes were moist; he had shed tears.

Ordinarily, Ye Lanyu would have expected him to deny it, but instead, Ye Lang did something unforgettable—he insisted on admitting it, and moreover…

“A man can cry, cry, cry—it’s no sin! Even the strongest have the right to be weary! If all that remains behind a smile is heartbreak, why force yourself to be so brave? Let a man cry…” Ye Lang, imitating Old Liu’s singing style, poured his feelings into song, belting out the lyrics as he strode through the gates of the Ye household.

“Brother, your singing may not be great, but it has a certain charm—very manly. Where did you learn that?” Ye Lanyu chased after him, curiosity piqued.

To her question, Ye Lang replied, “Leave me alone. I haven’t finished venting yet!”

“Even if it rains, there’s a kind of beauty in it. Why not seize this chance and have a good cry? It’s no sin!”

…

Night fell, and the moon cast its gentle white glow upon the earth. In the stillness of the late hour, a voice broke the quiet within the Ye residence.

“Tonight’s cold wind tears my heart apart, I stagger forward, lost, refusing to sleep until drunk, the misty rain holding a hazy beauty… Why am I crying so wretchedly, is it because I still long for you… The one who weeps, who weeps, who weeps…”

Ye Lang, holding a pipa, forced his sorrow into song, the mournful notes of the instrument blending with his anguished voice, creating a sound that could move listeners to tears.

He played the pipa not because he couldn’t find a guitar, but because he didn’t know how to play such a Western instrument; the Martial Arts Treasury contained only ancient Chinese instruments. Someday, perhaps, he would try his hand at Western music, but for now, the pipa was his forte.

As pure music, the pipa and his voice were anything but unpleasant; on the contrary, they were moving, almost addictive. But at this moment, the Ye household wished for nothing more than silence, for one simple reason—

“This is unbearable—how are we supposed to sleep?” The servants, though daring not to complain openly, muttered in frustration.

“Damn, this kid’s been singing all day—doesn’t he get tired?” The elders of the Ye family were a mixture of curious and helpless.

“Thirteen, I have a date tomorrow! Let me sleep, will you!” His cousins didn’t hold back at all, shouting directly when disturbed.

No matter how beautiful the music, at the wrong time, it still becomes noise—especially when it goes on and on.

Ye Lang didn’t know if he hadn’t vented enough or if he’d simply become addicted to singing. Ever since Huniu left, he’d been singing non-stop, always choosing those subtly sorrowful songs, dragging the whole household into his melancholy.

At first, it wasn’t a problem; many people enjoyed such songs. The trouble was that he kept going far too long—everyone’s patience wore thin.

This, too, spoke to Huniu’s importance in his heart—perhaps none could compare, and in the future, such emotions would rarely be seen from him again.

“Taya…” Seeing all this, Ye Lanyu and Long Anqi felt a tinge of jealousy, yet more than that, they felt gratitude. Huniu had cared for Ye Lang for so long, far more than they ever had.

After this, Ye Lanyu and Long Anqi treated Ye Lang even better than before, holding him in the very palms of their hands, as if determined to catch up with Huniu’s place in his heart.

Eventually, Ye Lang did stop his singing, bringing much relief to the cousin who had just been shouting; she even decided to reward her obedient younger relative the next day. But soon she was driven mad again and swore never to show Ye Lang a kind face.

For although Ye Lang had stopped singing, he continued to play the pipa, performing a gentle, melancholic piece called “Words of the Pipa.”

Tonight, the Ye household was destined to be sleepless.

On this night, many grew to resent Ye Lang’s music. Yet, many years later, they would wonder why they hadn’t listened a little longer, why they hadn’t cherished it more while they could.

…