My era, 1979!

Chapter 175 "Black Keys" Part 2 (A book within a book; skip if you don't like it)
In 1979, the Suzhou Creek, like a turbid tear stain, meandered through the coastal city, which was eager to forget its scars.

It carries with it the various dyes discharged from textile factories, as well as the desires and anxieties that quietly grew throughout the era.

Along the riverbank, the gray walls of the textile factory dormitory area are mottled like old New Year pictures, and the sounds of people buzz between the tenement buildings.

Lin Wanqiu, a 19-year-old female worker, was known in the factory as a "silent type".

She was like a pale shadow, disappearing down the stairs leading to that low attic after work.

There, an old "Dongfanghong" brand accordion missing its black keys was her only refuge.

The music was always intermittent, faint and indistinct, like a sob that no one could understand, painstakingly retrieved from the silt at the bottom of a river.

Across the river, seventeen-year-old Shen Yan guards his father's scrap metal recycling station.

Dusk is his secret anticipation of the day.

The intermittent sound of a piano would always drift from the pavilion on the opposite bank, always making him put down the clockwork parts he was working on.

There was an indescribable stubbornness in the music, like repeatedly polishing an invisible wound—which reminded him of his mother, the woman who also hummed sad melodies when no one was around, and who eventually disappeared quietly in the torrent of time.

He had seen the girl playing the violin, walking across the Suzhou River bridge with her head down. Her thin shoulder blades were particularly prominent under her old work clothes, like reeds that could be broken by the wind at any moment.

Once, he saw her stepfather shoving and scolding her at the factory gate. She bit her lip and remained silent, but her fingers twisted the hem of her clothes so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

At that moment, a corner of Shen Yan's heart was gently touched.

He picked up a yellowed sheet of music from the pile of waste paper, carefully smoothed out the creases, and began his search in the shadows.

It's for her, and for myself, to piece together those memories related to my mother that have been torn apart by the times.

It all began on that cold winter night when even your breath felt like it was freezing.
-
The bond began a year ago on that bone-chilling winter night.

Lin Wanqiu's stepfather, Zhao Yongge, the warehouse manager at the factory, is a rough and greedy man hardened by the times, who once again commits violence while drunk.

This time, he coveted not only his stepdaughter's beauty, but also her deceased biological mother.

The manuscript left behind by the woman who was once a well-known piano teacher in Haicheng Beach.

He firmly believed that the sheet music for the piece titled "Suzhou River Rhapsody" contained the secret to accessing overseas heritage.

Tearing, crying, begging for mercy.

The empty warehouse amplified the despair.

In the chaos of the struggle, Lin Wanqiu's hand touched something cold and hard.
It was a watch repair screwdriver that Shen Yan left behind.

The instinct for survival overwhelmed everything. She closed her eyes and, with all her might, plunged the cold metal into the neck that was pressing against her.

Warm blood gushed out suddenly, and Zhao Yongge collapsed heavily to the ground, never to be heard again.

The world shattered into a blank before Lin Wanqiu's eyes.

Just as she stood frozen in place, her blood seemingly frozen, Shen Yan appeared at the warehouse door like a ghost.

Upon witnessing this horrifying scene, he neither screamed nor fled.

The girl's expression, a mixture of fear and relief, was like a key that instantly unlocked the lock of his memory: when his mother passed away, did he also have such a moment?

He simply stepped forward quickly, checked Zhao Yongge's breath, then raised his eyes and looked at her, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind, with a calmness beyond her years.

"The person is dead." His voice was unusually calm. "They must be disposed of."

He was the one who orchestrated the operation to hide the body under the abandoned machine tool.

A chilling fear quickly enveloped the two young men.

Shen Yan displayed a composure beyond his years. He dragged the body to a Soviet-style machine tool that had long been scrapped and covered it with scrap cotton yarn and parts.

“We must survive,” he said, staring at Lin Wanqiu’s pale face. “From now on, like the black and white keys of this accordion, we will always be separated by a gap, but we must work together to support a complete melody.”

The secret contract was thus established.

Lin Wanqiu was in the open.

She had to be more "normal" and, taking advantage of her barely made it into the factory's cultural propaganda team, actively searched for the complete manuscript of "Suzhou River Rhapsody".

That was the only memory her mother left behind, and it might also be the key to guiding her out of her suffering and even to finding out the true cause of her mother's death.

Shen Yan, operating in the shadows, used the various methods he learned from the junkyard to clear obstacles for Lin Wanqiu.

He imitated Zhao Yongge's handwriting to forge leave requests and letters, creating the illusion that he had "absconded with funds due to corruption."

He secretly intimidated anyone who might discover the truth about Zhao Yongge's disappearance; he even secretly repaired Lin Wanqin's accordion with the missing key and "helped" her gain a foothold in the propaganda team, eliminating her competitors.

At this moment, the covenant of fate was inscribed with fear, blood, and a profound, shared sense of empathy.

Shen Yan, this silent young man, carrying a mixture of unspoken affection and profound understanding stemming from his own pain, resolutely jumped into her abyss, becoming an accomplice to her darkest secret.
-
Music became their only, and dangerous, way of communicating.

Lin Wanqiu would add a specific rhythm to her practice sessions in the attic late at night.

A rapid, continuous bass note signifies "suspicion, caution is advised"; a soothing arpeggio, on the other hand, indicates "temporary safety, action is permissible".

The sound of the piano mingled with the night mist over the Suzhou River and drifted towards the opposite bank.

Shen Yan then cleverly slipped the tattered musical scores or slips of paper with simple information he found into the bellows of the accordion. Lin Wanqiu was able to "receive" them during her practice the next day.

Each piece of sheet music is like a piece of the puzzle in their broken relationship.

The tides of time sway individual destinies.

The factory is making intensive preparations for the "Art Performance Celebrating the 30th Anniversary of Reform and Opening Up and the Founding of the People's Republic of China".

Lin Wanqiu stood out for her accordion skills and became the focus of the performance.

She caught the attention of the factory's deputy secretary, a leader who appeared refined but was actually keenly aware of potential benefits.

Meanwhile, Wei Guoping, the veteran police officer who had failed to uncover the truth about Zhao Yongge's "disappearance" years ago, also turned his attention back to this female worker who had suddenly become "dazzling".

He had a gut feeling that beneath the calm surface of the water, there was a whirlpool.

Around this vortex, several pairs of eyes remained silently watching.

Dr. Chen Meijuan from the factory clinic treated Lin Wanqiu's old injuries caused by her stepfather.

After the murder, the girl sought medical help for neurasthenia caused by extreme stress. From her dazed eyes and subtle trembling, Dr. Chen glimpsed the outline of the truth.

She didn't point it out, but silently increased the dosage of the sedative and wrote "rest recommended" on the medical record.
This is a complex compassion that only those who have weathered storms can understand.

Shen Yan's father, fitter Shen Guodong, sensed something unusual from the rusty smell of the warehouse that clung to his son when he returned home late at night.

Deep in the junkyard, he found his son's work clothes, which had been hidden and had a faint, barely noticeable dark brown stain.

He didn't question it; he simply remained silent and threw the garment into the furnace where scrap metal was being smelted.

The blazing flames illuminated his wrinkled yet expressionless face—a clumsy yet heartbreaking display of paternal love.

Veteran police officer Wang Weiguo's investigation never stopped.

He visited the scrap yard and had a brief but witty conversation with Shen Guodong; he also went to see Chen Meijuan, but Dr. Chen skillfully avoided the key point with a professional tone.

Wang Weiguo knew they were hiding something, but the standard of the law requires evidence.

And there's that boy called "Little Sichuan," a shadow of Shen Yan.

He innocently admired his "Brother Shen" and accidentally saw Shen Yan washing what appeared to be bloodstains on his hands by the river late at night.

He didn't understand, yet he instinctively kept the secret for him.
-
On a winter night, a thin layer of ice begins to form on the surface of the Suzhou River, and breath turns into mist.

In the small attic of the junkyard, Shen Yan repeatedly wiped several clock repair tools in front of the dim light bulb.

He has confirmed through multiple channels that not only did Deputy Secretary Li intend to forcibly transfer Lin Wanqiu to Guangzhou after the performance, but he also secretly sent people to search the warehouse for old items, targeting those corners where manuscripts might be hidden.

"The secrets beneath the machine tool can no longer be hidden."

The thought gnawed at him like a venomous snake.

He glanced out the window at the textile factory warehouse across the river; the huge, dark shadow was like a lurking beast, ready to devour him and Lin Wanqiu at any moment.

He couldn't wait any longer.

That corner must be completely erased before the performance.

Flame is the only option that can devour all traces.

The night was deeper.

Shen Yan put on his darkest old work clothes and tucked a bottle of kerosene and matches that he had secretly saved into his pocket.

He slipped out of the junkyard with nimble movements, unaware that in the darkness, another pair of eyes had been following him with concern.

It's "Little Sichuan".

This naive young man has recently become acutely aware that "Brother Shen's" emotions are off, and his resolute ruthlessness makes him uneasy.

He was worried that Shen Yan might do something foolish, so he quietly followed him, like a silent shadow, disappearing into the cold night.
-
Shen Yan sneaked into the familiar warehouse like a ghost.

A strong smell of engine oil and cotton yarn hit me.

He located the abandoned machine tool precisely and carefully poured kerosene onto the surrounding scrap cotton yarn and wood.

His movements trembled slightly with nervousness, but his eyes were unusually firm.

Just as he struck the match, a soft, tearful cry came from the corner: "Brother Shen... don't do anything foolish..."

It's "Little Sichuan"!
He finally spoke up out of fear and concern.

Shen Yan froze, and the match fell onto the kerosene-soaked cotton yarn.

With a loud "boom," flames shot up instantly, spreading rapidly and greedily devouring oxygen and all flammable materials.

"Run!"

Shen Yan shouted in the direction of "Little Sichuan".

However, the thick smoke and the instantly ignited wall of fire obscured the view.

"Little Sichuan" was choked and coughed violently, and in his panic, he tripped over the scattered parts under his feet.

Flames immediately engulfed his thin clothes.

"Brother Shen—save me—!"

That piercing, burning scream became a nightmare that Shen Yan could never escape for the rest of his life.

He tried to rush over, but the scorching heat pushed him away.

He watched helplessly as the boy who had relied on him writhed in agony in the flames before finally fading into silence.

The firelight illuminated Shen Yan's pale and distorted face, and also lit up half the sky above the Suzhou Creek. The sirens of fire trucks grew louder as they approached, accompanied by a cacophony of voices.

Like a statue whose soul had been ripped away, Shen Yan was swept away by the crowd rushing to put out the fire in the chaos and fled the scene.

His hands were not stained with the blood of "Little Sichuan," but that fire had burned an unfillable black hole in his heart.
-
The next morning, smoke was still rising from the ruins.

Veteran police officer Wang Weiguo carefully examined the scene, stepping on charred broken wood and rubble.

In a relatively intact corner not far from the machine tool wreckage, his tweezers picked up a piece of almost burnt metal from the ashes—a fragment of a clock gear, with distinctive file marks on its edges.

He immediately recognized it as a tool and part used only in the repair of precision watches.

His sharp gaze fell upon the scrap yard on the opposite bank of the river.

The clues finally pointed clearly to that silent boy.

the same day.

Shen Guodong found an unfinished letter under his son's bed, only beginning to read: "Dad, I'm sorry to you, and I'm sorry to 'Little Sichuan'..."

And there was that pair of the most precise watch tweezers that he had personally polished for Shen Yan, polished to a shine, placed in the center of the pillow, like a silent farewell.

That evening, Shen Yan returned to the scrap yard, reeking of smoke and fire, his eyes vacant.

Shen Guodong didn't question him, but silently ladled a bowl of hot porridge and placed it in front of him, saying in a hoarse voice, "Yanzi, even if the sky falls, Dad will hold it up for you. You... don't take a dead end."

Shen Yan raised his head and looked at his father, who seemed to have aged ten years overnight. His lips twitched, but in the end, it turned into a smile that was more painful than crying: "Father, I can't hold on. My path... has come to an end."

On the afternoon of the performance day, Lin Wanqiu was nervously practicing one last time backstage, but her fingers trembled uncontrollably.

Chen Meijuan came over carrying a medicine box and took her to a secluded place under the pretext of checking her body.

Dr. Chen didn't look at her. While adjusting his stethoscope, he said in a low voice with an unprecedented seriousness: "I heard that Deputy Secretary Li has already booked tickets for you and them to go to Guangzhou, for tomorrow."

She placed a small bottle of white pills into Lin Wanqiu's palm. "These are medicine to calm you down. Remember, no matter what happens tonight, survive. Only by surviving can you have a future."

Lin Wanqiu gripped the medicine bottle tightly, the icy touch reaching straight to her heart.

She understood that Dr. Chen's unspoken message was: a storm was brewing.
-
In the evening, the lanterns are lit.

Backstage at the Workers' Cultural Palace auditorium, Lin Wanqiu, already made up, sat alone in a corner, her heart pounding like a drum.

She kept stroking an old button left by her mother, which was her only talisman.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows to the side—it was Shen Yan.

His face was as pale as paper, but his eyes held a calm that bordered on madness. He clutched a brown paper bag tightly in his hand.

“Late Autumn,” his voice was soft, yet exceptionally clear, “Here you take this. It’s the complete ‘Suzhou River Rhapsody’.”

Lin Wanqiu took it, and it felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.

“I’ve found out,” Shen Yan said quickly, his gaze fixed on her. “Deputy Secretary Li and his group don’t just want the manuscript. They… may have driven your mother to her death back then. This manuscript is one of the pieces of evidence they’re afraid of.”

This news struck Lin Wanqiu like a bolt from the blue, leaving her frozen in shock.

"So you have to act well."

Shen Yan looked at her, his eyes filled with boundless longing and determination, "Use your mother's music to tell them that you've stood up. The road ahead..."

He paused, then that smile reappeared, gentle yet broken. "This time, you'll have to finish playing the melody yourself."

A series of hurried footsteps and Wang Weiguo's deep command came from the backstage entrance.

Shen Yan took one last deep look at Lin Wanqiu, as if trying to etch her image into his soul.

Immediately, he turned around abruptly and rushed towards the second-floor air vent at the end of the corridor, which was usually locked but was now inexplicably ajar, leading to the external staircase. Without the slightest hesitation, he leaped out.

"Shen Yan—!" Lin Wanqiu's exclamation was choked in her throat.

Almost simultaneously, Wang Weiguo led his men in and rushed in. They saw Lin Wanqiu standing there, holding a brown paper bag, frozen in place. Outside the open window, the cold wind howled in, and from downstairs came the dull thud of heavy objects falling onto the ice and the ear-piercing sound of the ice cracking.

The curtain is slowly being drawn back.

The background music had already started playing. Lin Wanqiu bit her lower lip so hard it almost bled.

She clutched the brown paper bag tightly to her chest, as if holding onto the last bit of warmth and all the blood feud, and walked step by step toward the blinding spotlight.
-
The performance stage was brightly lit.

"You'll have to play this melody yourself this time."

He smiled, bearing all the blame and darkness upon himself.

Lin Wanqiu stood under the spotlight, wearing a brand-new performance costume.

The piece she was playing was the "Suzhou River Rhapsody," which had just been pieced together using the tattered pages that Shen Yan had stuffed into the bellows.

The music flowed like the Suzhou River, carrying sorrow, struggle, and a glimmer of hope.

The audience was captivated, believing it to be the most heartfelt tribute to the new era.

"So that your night may truly usher in the day."

The moment the police rushed in, Shen Yan shoved the manuscript into Lin Wanqiu's hand, a smile of near relief spreading across his face.

Before he finished speaking, he turned around, smashed open the second-floor air vent that had been locked for years, and jumped down.

His figure swept across the cold air and finally landed on the thin ice of the Suzhou River in early winter. The sound of the ice breaking was drowned out by the last notes of the piano. He was like a broken black key that had finally fallen.

Lin Wanqiu's piano playing continued.

Tears welled up and mingled with the stirring melody.

The audience erupted in applause, deeply moved by the heartfelt performance.

Only she knew that what she was playing was a desperate requiem.

After the performance, she unfolded her mother's manuscript in the cold backstage area.

On the last page, besides the complex musical notes, there was also a line of neat, small print:
"Music is for healing the soul, not for binding fate. My dear, live freely."
-
After the applause subsided, Lin Wanqiu was not arrested.

Shen Yan's arson, his sole responsibility for the two murders, and his death formed a logical loop that, from the official perspective, could "close the case."

The chain of evidence broke down with him.

Wang Weiguo had huge doubts in his mind, but the law requires evidence, so he could only file the case files. On the summary reports of Zhao Yongge's disappearance case and Shen Yan's arson and murder case, he wrote "The suspect Shen Yan is dead, and the investigation of the case is terminated," his pen heavy as a mountain.

However, Lin Wanqiu did not feel relieved.

The "freedom" that Shen Yan bought for her with his life was not light, but a heavy responsibility that he had to fulfill for a lifetime.

She opened her mother's manuscript and saw the sentence, "Music is for healing the soul, not for binding fate. My daughter's advice: Live freely."

She understood—the freedom her mother spoke of was not the freedom to escape legal punishment, but the true freedom to live bravely with all her memories and guilt, and to atone for her sins and create in her own way.

She willingly accepted the endless internal judgment.
-
Years later.

Lin Yuanqiu traveled to Europe and, through his talent and hard work, became a renowned accordion player.

But behind her brilliance lies a wound that will never heal.

She founded the "Black Keys Music Foundation," whose core project is "Melody for the Silent," which specifically funds teenagers who suffer psychological trauma from domestic violence and school bullying, providing them with therapy through music.

She would return to China anonymously every year, back to the banks of the Suzhou River, but she never publicly performed "Capriccio," which was the last line of defense she left for herself.

The Suzhou Creek has long been cleaned up and is now flowing smoothly.

Some secrets, like sediment at the bottom of a river, are buried deep forever.

Some melodies, once played in the darkness, can only echo endlessly in the dark night of the soul.

For her, what Shen Yan traded his life for was not a bright future, but a long life in which she could walk alone in the daytime but could never truly reach the dawn.
-
After Wang Weiguo retired, those few case files that could not be fully clarified became a thorn in his side.

He did not stop at regret.

Based on his long-term reflection on the "Lin-Shen" case (which he considers an inseparable chain of tragedies), he joined forces with several veteran forensic doctors and criminal police officers with similar experiences to write a detailed "Several Suggestions on Improving the Protection of Minors and the Early Intervention Mechanism for Domestic Violence".

In the report, although he did not mention specific cases, he used "many tragic cases he had handled" as examples to deeply analyze the extreme behaviors that teenagers like Lin Wanqiu might exhibit in a long-term domestic violence environment, and the problem of "marginalized teenagers" like Shen Yan turning to crime due to a lack of social support systems.

This report, delivered through internal channels, became a valuable teaching material for subsequent revisions of relevant laws and grassroots police training on handling domestic violence incidents and preventing minors from falling into dangerous situations.
-
Chen Meijuan later became one of the pioneers in post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) research in China.

On the title page of her academic monograph, "Silent Scars: A Study of Individual Psychological Trauma in a Changing Era," she wrote: "This study is dedicated anonymously to Ms. 'L,' who dedicated her life to demonstrating how music and kindness can become the light illuminating the dark night of trauma."

She provided solid theoretical support for Wang Weiguo's suggestions from medical and psychological perspectives.
-
Shen Guodong passed away peacefully in a nursing home.

Few of his belongings remain; the most precious are a blurry old photograph of Shen Yan's mother and a watch repair box that is spotless but whose internal tools are forever missing a spot.

He took away all the silence, pain, and unspoken love of an ordinary father from that era.
-
Final Chapter

The year 2020 has arrived.

The Anti-Domestic Violence Law has been in effect for several years, and the system for protecting minors is constantly being improved.

At a charity concert titled "Looking Back and Moving Forward" at the Haicheng Grand Theatre, the elderly Lin Wanqiu, as the closing guest, decided to publicly perform the complete "Suzhou River Rhapsody" for the first time.

Before the performance, she stood in the center of the stage, with a spotlight shining on her silver hair.

Instead of recounting specific crimes and punishments, she said: "Many years ago, on the banks of the Suzhou Creek, there were two young people and an unfinished song. In the deepest darkness, they tried to illuminate each other with their faint light. Today, we have more laws and systems to illuminate the darkness, which is a sign of social progress. But the improvement of the law often begins with facing the wounds of the past. This 'Suzhou Creek Rhapsody' is dedicated to all those who have walked in darkness, to the progress that has been achieved at a price, and even more so to all of you who still believe in dawn and are willing to fight for it."

She began to play.

The music was magnificent and profound, filled with the weight of time.

In a crucial chord, she still left the black key blank.

But this time, that abrupt, deliberate silence was no longer merely a symbol of loss and grief.

It became a silent monument—a memorial to Shen Yan, a memorial to "Little Sichuan," and a memorial to all individuals swept up by the tides of the times and personal tragedies.

It represents remembering the past, accepting mistakes, respecting sacrifices, and having the courage to overcome all these scars and usher in the future.

As the music ended, the applause continued for a long time.

Younger audiences hear the vicissitudes of history and the beauty of art, while a few, like Wang Weiguo's apprentices who know the inside story, hear a weighty history of social development.
-
Final shot.

In her Geneva office drawer, the screwdriver wrapped in tarpaulin remains locked in its place, a reminder that she will never forget her own sins.

But unlike decades ago, next to it, there is a neat stack of Black Key Foundation annual reports and photos of smiling children who have received assistance.

On one side is the unchangeable, painful past.

On one side is a warm future that we are working hard to create.

Together, they constitute Lin Wanqiu's complete life, a life played on the white keys.

And that black key, forever and silently, remains empty on the keyboard of time, and also empty in her heart.

(End of this chapter)