Sure! Here's a 750-word scene in your tone—layered with quiet tension, haunting emotion, and subtle power dynamics:
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The Ji penthouse was wrapped in a silence that didn't feel peaceful—it was the kind of silence that filled the lungs with something heavier than air. The sky beyond the window had dulled into a cold gray, the sun dimming behind the clouds, but the light that flooded in was silver-sharp.
Bai Zhiqi stood before the tall windows like a statue carved out of porcelain and shadow. She hadn't moved in hours. She didn't need to. The world outside moved enough for her.
And today, it moved with a vengeance.
Across the skyline, one of the city's most prominent digital billboards flickered to life. Its soft golden glow warmed the chill in the air, but not the one that clung to Bai Zhiqi's spine. Her gaze followed the rising animation, the shifting text, and the elegant face of Bai Lanyue that bloomed across the screen like a flower in perfect bloom.
A promotional banner.
An invitation.
*"In loving memory of my sister, Bai Zhiqi… Join me this weekend in honoring her legacy with a private banquet."*
The words glowed in perfect script below a photo of Bai Lanyue draped in ivory silk, chin tilted, eyes soft, as if mourning something she herself had buried.
The breath Bai Zhiqi didn't know she was holding came out slowly. Her face was unreadable—neither anger nor pain touched her expression. Just stillness. But beneath that stillness, something stirred. It was the kind of silence that grew teeth.
She stood there for a long time, watching herself be remembered as dead.
A celebration for a woman who was still alive.
A banquet in her name. A performance dressed in grief and affection. How poetic.
Behind her, Ji Yanluo sat on the edge of the low velvet couch, his shirt sleeves rolled, a drink in his hand that had long gone untouched. He didn't ask if she was okay. He didn't speak at all. The tension in the room didn't need words. It hovered like fog, thick and unmoving.
"She really means to go through with it," Bai Zhiqi said finally. Her voice was soft. Not weak. Just cold, stripped of pretense. "A birthday banquet… for her dead sister."
Her fingers twitched at her side.
Ji Yanluo's eyes shifted to her reflection in the window—she looked like she belonged in another world. One where ghosts remembered the living.
"She knows you're alive," he said after a moment.
Bai Zhiqi's eyes narrowed slightly.
"She thinks she does," she murmured. "But she doesn't understand what that means. Not yet."
Silence again.
"She wants to own the story," Bai Zhiqi whispered. "Make me a memory. A ghost she can weep over."
"And you?" Ji Yanluo asked, watching her carefully.
Her lips curved—not a smile. Something quieter. Colder. "I'm not ready to be mourned."
The lights outside the penthouse flickered on as night began to crawl over the city. The billboard continued its loop, but Bai Zhiqi no longer looked at it. She turned from the window, walking slowly back toward the center of the room.
Ji Yanluo followed her with his eyes, saying nothing.
She paused by the coffee table, her fingers brushing against the edge of a closed folder. Not the time. Not yet.
She looked up.
"We let her plan her show," Bai Zhiqi said. "Then we write the ending ourselves."
Ji Yanluo nodded once, but she was already walking away—each step silent, like a ghost choosing when to return.
Only the soft hum of the city reached them, like whispers from a world they no longer belonged to.
"I should be buried," she added, her tone laced with quiet irony. "Yet here I am—watching my own memorial unfold in LED lights."
Ji Yanluo rose, crossing the space between them without a sound. He didn't touch her. He just stood behind her, watching the billboard as well. The soft music in the commercial drifted faintly through the sealed windows, some gentle piano piece that sounded far too graceful for something so cruel.
"They've already started decorating the Bai estate," he said. "The theme is white lilies and silk veils. Mourning in high fashion."
Bai Zhiqi gave a soft laugh—low, almost bitter. "How fitting."
Outside, the digital screen faded into another promotional slide, but the echo of Bai Lanyue's tribute remained etched in her vision.
"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked, eyes still on the city below.
Ji Yanluo didn't respond.
"She wants to close the curtain," she continued. "End the performance. Seal the casket. As if that will bury the truth with it."
She turned to face him then, her expression finally shifting—just slightly, but enough. A flicker of something sharp moved through her gaze. Not vengeance. Not yet.
But it was close.