Pipa Ghost rested his chin on his pipa.
He watched the old man slowly approach.
"Hey, hurry up."
The old woman urged him impatiently.
"Look."
Her face lit up with delight.
"These flowers are so beautiful."
"They're lovely."
"Coming."
The old man quickened his pace.
He crouched beside the flowerpot. The flowers in full bloom brought a smile to his face.
"They're lovely."
He echoed the old woman's sentiment.
After admiring the newly blossomed flowers for quite a while, the old woman went back inside.
A TV drama she was following was about to start.
The old man stayed out on the balcony.
He hadn't been out there for several days—
Only a few days, really.
Yet everything before him felt somewhat unfamiliar.
Familiar, but touched with a faint sense of strangeness.
Crouching there, the old man finished admiring the new blooms and began looking over the flowers, pot by pot.
Every now and then, he trimmed some leaves and branches.
He patted down the soil.
A clear smile remained in his eyes.
Until—
A clear, lilting note from a pipa rang out.
Just one note.
The smile in the old man's eyes faded.
His crouched body stiffened.
But this time, he didn't lose his temper in a rush like he had before.
A few days of cooling off had helped him calm down considerably.
He wasn't usually so quick-tempered.
It was just that everything had happened so suddenly...
It had been so long since he'd heard the sound of a pipa.
Hearing it out of the blue...
It was no wonder he'd lost his composure.
He took several deep breaths.
Veins stood out on the back of the hand gripping the scissors.
The old man pressed his lips together.
The pipa music...