The golden sunlight of late afternoon filtered through the crystal-clear windows of the boutique, casting delicate reflections across polished marble floors and shimmering silk gowns. Quiet music hummed in the background, soft enough to be ignored, yet elegant enough to impress.
Bai Zhiqi stepped inside soundlessly, the soft rustle of her long coat the only hint of her presence. She wore her signature veil—black, sheer, laced at the edges—a shadow of mystery that made heads turn but mouths stay shut. Right behind her, Xiao Lin followed, her expression composed and alert, as always.
This wasn't meant to be anything more than a quick stop. A new dress for an upcoming private showcase. Something simple. Something silent.
But fate had other plans.
"Well, if it isn't the ghost behind the strings," came the familiar, saccharine voice from deeper in the boutique.
Xiao Lin froze subtly. Bai Zhiqi didn't.
From between two velvet-lined displays emerged *Wen Qing*, dressed like a walking magazine spread, lips curled into an all-too-pleasant smile that dripped venom. Her eyes locked onto Bai Zhiqi with calculated delight.
"What are the odds," she continued, walking closer in perfectly timed strides. "You always did enjoy haunting expensive corners of the city."
Bai Zhiqi didn't speak. Didn't even turn her head.
Xiao Lin took a step forward, placing herself slightly in front of her.
"Miss Wen," she greeted, tone flat. "We didn't know you frequented this boutique."
Wen Qing chuckled, waving a perfectly manicured hand. "Oh, let's not pretend. I know exactly what kind of places the veiled musician shops at these days. Lavish. Pretentious. Mysterious."
Her eyes swept Bai Zhiqi from head to toe, then narrowed with faux curiosity. "Is that why she never speaks? To keep up the enigma? Or is it shame? I've heard both."
Xiao Lin's lips twitched but she said nothing.
Wen Qing's eyes glinted. "Or maybe it's guilt? After all, we do know what's hiding beneath that veil, don't we?"
A flicker passed through Xiao Lin's eyes—but she kept her voice smooth. "What do you think is hiding, Miss Wen? A scandal? Or just a woman stronger than you remember?"
Wen Qing's smile twitched, but she recovered quickly.
"You think this little performance fools anyone?" she said, voice colder now. "If the public knew who she truly was… the whispers would become knives."
"And yet they whisper in awe," Xiao Lin replied easily. "Not one of them speaks your name."
That struck.
Wen Qing's jaw tightened. Her gaze snapped to Bai Zhiqi, who remained perfectly still, head slightly tilted, veil gleaming under the boutique lights.
"She's still pretending," Wen Qing spat. "Pretending she's changed. Pretending she's innocent. As if people forget."
"She's not pretending to be anything," Xiao Lin countered, stepping forward, her voice low and sharp. "She plays. She leaves. The ones who speak are the ones who can't bear the silence."
Wen Qing's eyes blazed. "You think hiding behind a mask and a mouthpiece makes her invincible?"
Bai Zhiqi finally moved—not to speak, not to respond. She simply walked past, graceful and ghostlike, reaching for a soft midnight-blue gown on display. The fabric caught the light like water. She touched it lightly with gloved fingers.
As if Wen Qing didn't exist.
Xiao Lin smiled politely. "We won't be long. Wouldn't want to keep you from your… social climbing."
Wen Qing turned abruptly. "You may fool them now," she hissed, low and close to Xiao Lin, "but secrets rot in silence."
Then she glanced at the boutique attendant, who stood frozen nearby. "Have fun dressing your puppet."
With that, Wen Qing stormed off toward the exit, heels cracking like thunder across marble.
As soon as the door shut, Xiao Lin turned back to Bai Zhiqi, her voice soft. "She's riled. That means you're doing something right."
Bai Zhiqi didn't answer, but the slight way her head tilted—like the drop of a final note—was enough.
She still hadn't said a single word.
And yet, she'd said everything.