The rain tapped quietly against the penthouse window. Ji Yanluo stood still, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon of the city. The soft hum of the room behind him was distant, muted—as if the present had dimmed to make way for the memory clawing its way back to him.
Five years ago.
The courtroom had smelled like old wood and judgment. Heavy with silence, until the whispers started. Not the press, not the spectators—but the whispers in his own mind.
Bai Zhiqi sat alone in the defendant's seat, spine straight, eyes unreadable. Not shackled, but surrounded by accusations thicker than chains. And across from her, in the front row of the plaintiff's gallery, sat the Su family—rigid, tear-stained, wounded.
Su Yiran was in a coma.
The accusation? That Bai Zhiqi had pushed her down the flight of stairs during an argument at the Bai estate.
A deliberate act of violence.
Attempted manslaughter.
But he knew it wasn't true.
The press headlines came fast:
*Heiress Turned Criminal: Bai Zhiqi Convicted.*
*Su Yiran's Tragedy: A Fall or a Push?*
*From Music Prodigy to Pariah.*
He had watched her being led away by the guards. No fight. No protest. She didn't look at anyone—not even him. And for a long time after, he told himself she *deserved* his silence. That maybe, just maybe, she really had done it.
But that lie had never sat right in his gut.
Now, years later, he knew better. Or maybe—finally—he could admit what he always knew.
She wasn't guilty.
She never was.
Behind him, Xiao Lin's voice drifted faintly from the living room. Something about a schedule, a meeting, a performance at the Jade Pavilion. But Ji Yanluo wasn't listening anymore. Not really.
Because all he could see was the girl from five years ago walking out of the courtroom—shoulders drawn, hands clenched at her side, framed in a storm of flashing cameras and false truths.
And all he could remember was the way her eyes never once looked back at him.
Because he didn't deserve it.
Now she was back. Not as Bai Zhiqi, the disgraced daughter, but as the *Veiled Musician*—an enigma that stirred the nation.
And still, even with her veil, he could see her pain.
Ji Yanluo had replayed that day in his mind a thousand times, even now. Su Yiran lying at the base of the staircase like a broken doll. Bai Zhiqi standing above, wide-eyed, trembling—but not from guilt. From shock. From horror.
She'd called the ambulance.
She'd stayed until they took Su Yiran away.
She'd cried—*quietly*, where no one could see.
But the moment the Bai family closed ranks, Bai Lanyue stepped into the scene, and the Su family demanded justice, the narrative shifted. And in the end, the girl no one wanted to protect became the girl everyone wanted to blame.
He remembered her silence at the trial. Her lawyer spoke, yes—but Bai Zhiqi herself said nothing. Not a word in her defense.
Because no one would've believed her.
Because her own family had already given her up.
And Ji Yanluo? He sat in that courtroom, a ghost in human skin, watching her life unravel in pieces. He should've stood. Should've spoken. Should've stopped the rot before it festered.
But he didn't.
"Miss Bai Zhiqi," the judge said, voice grave. "Due to the severity of your actions and the impact on the victim's life, the court finds you guilty. You are hereby sentenced to five years in a correctional facility."
Ji Yanluo's knuckles had gone white that day. But he didn't move. Didn't speak.
That courtroom had taken something from her. Not just her freedom. But her voice. Her trust.
And Ji Yanluo, standing by like a coward, had helped strip it away.
He turned slowly from the window, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with purpose.
He had failed her once.
He wouldn't again.