The darkness of the night blanketed the city, but inside a candle-lit room framed in golds and shadows, the screen flickered to life.
No introduction.
No words.
Only the soft bloom of candlelight dancing off silk curtains and the unmistakable silhouette — the *veiled musician*, seated before a gleaming black grand piano.
A hush seemed to fall over the digital world.
The livestream viewer count surged.
Thousands.
Then tens of thousands.
*#VeiledMusicianLive* trended within minutes.
She didn't look at the camera. She never did. Her posture regal, her hands poised — waiting.
Then, she played.
The first note fell like a drop of water in a still lake.
Soft.
Lonely.
Then, the melody crept in — delicate, deliberate — a haunting waltz of sorrow and memory. A composition unlisted, unnamed, unclaimed.
But not unfamiliar.
The chat exploded.
> "Wait… this melody…"
> "Isn't that the piece Su Yiren used to play during recitals?!"
> "What kind of message is this?!"
> "Coincidence? Or is she saying something?"
The music deepened. Layered in trembles of hope… then crashed into a minor key — darker, accusatory. The rhythm faltered, staggered like someone running from something — or someone chasing the truth.
It was no longer just music.
It was *storytelling* — the kind that didn't need lyrics to wound.
And every note struck a nerve.
Especially tonight.
Especially *after Su Yiren's mysterious disappearance.*
Those watching, even those who came out of curiosity, fell into a stunned silence as the music escalated — like a confrontation… like the quiet before a fall.
At its climax, the right hand danced through chaotic arpeggios while the left pounded down dissonant chords — a clear divide, two forces at war, neither yielding.
> "She's speaking through her music…"
> "The veiled musician knows."
> "Is this her way of telling us something about the Bai family?!"
> "Who *is* she?"
At the crescendo's peak — the veiled musician lifted her hands off the keys.
The silence that followed was violent.
Sudden.
The camera lingered.
A single candle flickered too hard and died out.
Darkness crept in.
And the livestream cut.
Just like that.
No goodbye.
No bow.
No message.
But the music lingered in every listener's chest like a ghost refusing to rest.
Within minutes, netizens were ablaze.
*Forums, gossip sites, livestream reactions — everywhere.*
> "The song felt like a warning."
> "She's definitely responding to the news. The timing is too perfect."
> "Could it be that the veiled musician knew Su Yiren?"
> "Or Bai Zhiqi? This performance felt too personal to be random."
> "No words spoken, but it said everything."
And under all the speculation, one chilling theory began to surface again — louder than before:
> *"Could the veiled musician *be* Bai Zhiqi?"*
But the livestream was gone.
No trace on her official account.
As if it never happened.
And yet… the music still echoed in everyone's mind.
In a world obsessed with appearances and statements, the veiled musician had done neither — and still managed to shake the foundation of a story too many wanted buried.
She didn't scream.
She played.
And the world heard her anyway.