The night was unusually quiet.
Even the city, always humming beneath the Ji penthouse, seemed to have momentarily silenced itself—waiting, listening.
Bai Zhiqi stood alone on the wide balcony outside her room, the wind gently teasing strands of her long black hair. Wrapped in a thin shawl, she stared down at the glittering lights below, as if hoping they'd offer answers she hadn't found in days of thinking.
Inside, her phone rested on the coffee table. On the screen was an open draft of her press statement—one she had written over and over again in the past week. A formal announcement to reveal her identity at Bai Lanyue's birthday gala.
She had been so sure.
So sure that reclaiming her name, her story, her voice, would begin with that one move. That if she stepped into the light wearing her scars like armor, the past would stop holding power over her.
But now… her fingers curled tighter around the railing.
Ji Yanluo had said nothing when she brought it up. Not disapproval. Not encouragement. Just that same unreadable quiet of his. But Xiao Lin and Ji Lanxue hadn't held back. Their words still echoed in her ears—not because they doubted her strength, but because they *knew* it. And feared what it would cost.
Bai Zhiqi inhaled deeply, the cool air sharp in her lungs. A few months ago, she would've never imagined herself in this place, under this roof, surrounded by people who didn't just tolerate her, but *stood beside her*. Xiao Lin's subtle protectiveness, Ji Lanxue's fierce honesty, Han Su's teases, and… Ji Yanluo. Always watching. Always listening. Always one step behind and ahead of her all at once.
Her fingers loosened.
The wind picked up slightly, sending a few sheets of music fluttering on the table behind her—unfinished compositions, written in the stillness of dawns and restless midnights. Music that had no name attached to it but had reached millions. Stirred hearts. Changed minds.
*The veiled musician…*
She had built something.
Not just a persona, not just a mask, but a legacy of sound. A new beginning that didn't need her past to be valid.
Bai Zhiqi stepped back into her room, her feet quiet against the wooden floor. She moved to the table and stared at the phone screen again.
The words now felt heavy, forced.
She closed the document.
She didn't need Bai Lanyue's party. She didn't need a dramatic reveal in front of those who had buried her. The truth could wait. Or maybe… the world didn't need to know her name to hear her voice.
She was no longer desperate to prove herself.
That desperation was five years ago. That version of her had shattered in a courtroom and faded behind prison bars. What rose after was not a broken woman, but one reborn through music, patience, and pain.
She sat at the piano tucked in the corner of her room, lifting the lid gently.
Her fingers touched the keys with familiar reverence, and she began to play—not the haunting melodies of the veiled musician, not the ballads of grief and revenge—but something soft. Personal. Free.
A quiet, wordless decision.
She would not go public. Not yet.
She would not let Bai Lanyue's birthday be her battlefield.
And more importantly—she would not give her enemies the power to decide the stage she revealed herself on.
When the final note settled into the silence, Bai Zhiqi sat still, hands on the keys, heart strangely light.
Her choice was made.
She would let her music speak—for now.