Nora Scott’s mouth twitched slightly.
As she walked out of the study, Nora stuffed the beef jerky into his hand and then called out, "Co, I got sothing good to show you."
After being apart for a week, it was supposed to be a sweet reunion, but instead of allowing hugs or kisses, she just says "sothing good." Pedro Langley held the beef jerky in his hand, feeling utterly uninterested.
Nora didn’t bother with him; she walked over to the coffee table and opened the long wooden boxes placed on it one by one.
Inside the boxes, nestled in red soft cloth, were bamboo flutes.
The two flutes had different craftsmanship and styles.
At first glance, both seed very ordinary, yet one was quite standard and the other... had an indescribable "oddness" to it.
"Two of them?"
Pedro walked over.
"The other one is mine." Nora picked up a wooden box and handed it over, "This one’s for your mom."
Taking the wooden box, Pedro tentatively asked, "Not going to give it to her yourself?"
Nora gave him a sidelong glance without speaking, her aning clear.
Pedro didn’t push further. He took out the bamboo flute from the wooden box, instantly noticing its high-quality craftsmanship. The bamboo was sturdy and straight, with a smooth touch and not a single flaw. Without even testing the sound, you could gauge its quality.
At the end of the flute, the initials "LY" were ticulously carved, left by the maker.
Seeing this, Pedro’s lips curved slightly with a thought that crossed his mind.
"Why are you smiling?" Nora asked, puzzled.
Looking at her with a sincere smile, Pedro said, "Ten years ago, when I heard Loughton talk about how Julian Linfield was so aloof, proud, and talented, I never imagined he was a master of dark cuisine."
The interesting thing about being with Nora is that you often discover so novel things—
Without having directly interacted with Julian Linfield, in Pedro’s impression, he was a genius in his professional field, exceptionally talented and eccentric.
A renowned flute player, composer, and master bamboo flute maker.
He had created solo pieces worthy of textbooks; his music had a strong personal touch, yet varied in style—capable of elegantly reaching international acclaim and also becoming familiar tunes in down-to-earth films and TV shows.
Apart from his solid body of works, he had served as the honorary dean of a well-known art school, the president of the National Orchestra Society, and the chairman of the Musician’s Association of Yang Province...
He held countless impressive titles.
Yet, he abandoned them all with a simple "I’m done" and retreated to the mountains, completely vanishing from this field.
In this field, Flora Loughton’s achievents should be comndable and worthy of the title "artist," but in front of Julian Linfield, they were incomparable.
But this formidable, mysterious figure, through a connection with Nora, suddenly beca a down-to-earth, living person.
Enthusiastic about dark cuisine;
Making friends across generations;
Having a bit of childish temper...
In life, such elders are rare. Yet, such a person feels incredibly vibrant.
Free from labels, full of flesh and blood, and possessing a vivid, bright soul.
"Just like when netizens ntion Pedro Langley, they’re always ’rich bachelor,’ ’business genius,’ ’malevolent capitalist,’ and ’ani-co-to-life CEO’ impressions..."
Nora knew what he ant, speaking slowly, and then suddenly smiled, teasing, "Speaking of which, why are everyone else’s stereotypes so classy and yours so tacky?"
"Yet again dragging down the family’s artist."
Pedro confessed with a helpless smile.
The artist, Nora, chuckled, waved her hand generously, "Co on, let show you sothing."
Her hand swept down to take another bamboo flute from the long wooden box. Nora’s fingers moved, spinning the flute in her palm. That mont was like a scene straight out of a martial arts movie.
Pedro watched her with leisure, "Didn’t you say you couldn’t play?"
"...Mm."
At this ntion, Nora awkwardly touched her nose.
—Damn, definitely have to learn one piece to give him a scare.
"Show what?"
Pedro leaned in, examining the bamboo flute in her hand.
"Watch closely."
Her lips curled up as Nora raised an eyebrow, grasping the middle of the bamboo flute, palm down and holding it horizontally.
Pedro’s gaze was naturally drawn to the flute by her actions.
Nora lightly flicked a hidden chanism with her index finger, and suddenly, on the left side, a cold gleam flashed—a blade had sprung forth, razor-sharp and dangerous.
The sudden weapon made Pedro freeze montarily.
Then, Nora flicked another chanism, the other end flashed with a silvery light. Pedro’s eyes followed it as a silver needle shot out, embedding itself halfway into the sofa, its power apparent.
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