The early autumn breeze swept over the still pond beside the Jade Pavilion, rustling the golden reeds and carrying with it faint whispers of anticipation. Though a week had passed since the veiled musician's stunning appearance at the gala, her silence afterward had only deepened the public's obsession.
Today, the hush of the pavilion was broken by the quiet shuffle of silk shoes on stone.
Bai Lanyue stood just a few paces from the carved archway, eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. She had dressed with precision—elegant yet understated—her cream trench coat cinched at the waist, a soft beret perched over her curled chestnut hair. She had come alone, but her presence was anything but quiet.
There she was. The veiled musician.
Clad in an ocean-blue hanfu that shimmered like moonlight on water, she sat at the guzheng as if she belonged to the very air. A thin veil—white this time, sheer enough to tease, firm enough to hide—fell delicately over her face. Her fingers moved across the strings like drifting petals, coaxing out a melody that tugged at something old and wordless.
Beside her stood Xiao Lin, her hands folded neatly in front of her, a watchful calm in her eyes.
Lanyue's steps were sharp as she approached. The music did not falter.
"So, you really came," Lanyue said, her voice low but brimming with restrained tension. "I thought you'd vanish again like smoke."
Xiao Lin inclined her head politely. "Miss Bai."
"Don't 'Miss Bai' me." Lanyue's gaze was locked on the musician. "You've stirred quite the storm. Congratulations."
No reply. Only the guzheng's haunting tune answered.
"I've seen your fans." Lanyue's tone turned colder. "Your performance went viral, but I'm not stupid. That gala wasn't a coincidence. You knew I'd be there."
The melody stopped, suddenly, leaving the air too quiet.
Xiao Lin stepped forward calmly. "We didn't anticipate your presence, Miss Bai. That night belonged to the music, not you."
Lanyue let out a short, humorless laugh. "Oh? Then why the mask? Why the timing? The veil, the choice of music—every note was calculated. You've made a game of this."
Still, Bai Zhiqi said nothing. She sat, eyes hidden behind the veil, her presence composed and unreadable.
Lanyue's patience snapped. "Say something! If this is about me—then face me properly!"
Xiao Lin didn't flinch. "She has nothing to say. Not to you."
"Then I'll make her," Lanyue hissed, lunging forward to snatch the veil.
But Xiao Lin was faster.
She moved like a shadow, stepping between them in a single breath. Her arm shot out, catching Lanyue's wrist mid-air with a grip that looked light but carried steel.
"Don't touch her."
Lanyue's face darkened. "Who is she? What's your endgame?"
The veiled musician rose at last, slow and graceful, like a poem in motion. Her gaze, though hidden, held weight as she looked at Lanyue—and then turned away without uttering a word.
Xiao Lin released her hold only when Bai Zhiqi stepped down from the pavilion. "You wanted an answer, Miss Bai," she said quietly. "You got it. Silence can speak volumes—if you know how to listen."
With that, the veiled musician and her assistant walked off into the soft rustle of trees, their figures swallowed by the winding path of the garden.
Bai Lanyue stood alone in the stillness, humiliated, furious—and deeply unsettled. She didn't know who the veiled musician was, not yet. But one thing was certain:
This wasn't over.