The third morning rose with a breeze that tugged at the edges of early winter. In the heart of the park—now unofficially dubbed "The Veiled Virtuoso's Stage" by online fans—a familiar crowd had already begun to gather. Phones were raised, excitement buzzing like static in the air.
This time, Bai Zhiqi descended the steps of the temporary wooden platform in a *sky-blue hanfu*, embroidered with white plum blossoms trailing down her sleeves like falling snow. Her veil was thinner today, sheer enough to give glimpses of her lower face, adding to the mystique rather than taking it away.
Xiao Lin stood beside her as always, setting up the guzheng on its stand, double-checking the tuners with practiced care. More people had come today. Some even brought folding chairs, sketchbooks, and tripods. A few held small banners that read "Mystery Musician, Marry Me!" in glitter pens.
Bai Zhiqi sat with grace, positioning her fingers delicately above the strings. The soft clatter of whispers faded the moment her fingers moved.
Today's melody was different—darker, layered. It began slow, with lingering notes like falling water, but beneath it, something sharp lurked—a rhythm of tension, rising like a heartbeat.
The crowd stilled. Emotion rolled from her fingertips, pouring stories of longing, betrayal, and unshed grief. Her sleeves danced in the wind, sleeves like wings, like chains—depending on how one listened.
People didn't just hear the music; they felt it. Some closed their eyes. Some quietly wept.
Xiao Lin, standing nearby, barely noticed the cold air. Her chest ached with pride and awe. Even though she'd heard Bai Zhiqi practicing these melodies privately, nothing compared to how they sounded when she played them like this—raw and unfiltered.
By the time the final note quivered into silence, the crowd remained still for several seconds before erupting into thunderous applause.
Bai Zhiqi gave a silent bow before rising. The veil hid her smirk, but her eyes gleamed.
She had felt it.
The shift in the air.
Today was the day it would reach her.
***
Across the city, a sleek white Bentley glided through traffic. Inside, *Bai Lanyue* sat with poise, dressed in a luxurious pale-pink coat with fur cuffs. Her hair was elegantly pinned back, makeup flawless as always.
Next to her, her assistant flipped through a schedule.
"Your rehearsal is at four. Then the gala coordinator would like a quick interview for the sponsor's press," she was saying when a soft *ding* interrupted her—followed by the clear voice of a radio DJ.
*"And now onto trending cultural highlights of the week. For those of you following the buzz online, the mysterious guzheng performer has returned for a third day at the park near Jade River Plaza…"*
The assistant reached to lower the volume, but Bai Lanyue lifted a hand.
"Wait."
The DJ continued:
*"This morning's piece was unlike the first two—more emotional, complex. There are rumors the performer may be a former prodigy, perhaps one with ties to the piano world… Either way, whoever she is, the internet is calling her 'the storm in silk.'"*
Bai Lanyue's brows furrowed.
She leaned forward, narrowing her eyes slightly.
"Three days?" she asked, more to herself than anyone.
"Yes, Miss Bai. She's been trending non-stop."
"Why haven't I heard about this sooner?"
The assistant blinked. "It's… just a street performer, Miss Bai. We didn't think it would interest—"
"Anyone who can move the public that fast is no ordinary performer."
The driver glanced into the rearview mirror as Bai Lanyue's tone sharpened.
"Do we have time to stop by Jade River Plaza?"
"Your schedule—"
"Make time."
The assistant quickly nodded. "Yes, Miss Bai."
But as the radio faded into music, Bai Lanyue stared out the tinted window, her fingers slowly curling into her lap.
Something about the way the DJ had described the music made something old stir in her chest—something she hadn't felt in five years.
Unease.
No, not just unease—*recognition.*
But that was impossible.
She had made sure of it.
She'd *watched* her fall.
Hadn't she?