[1/13, 9:55 PM] ChatGPT: Sure! Here's
The last notes of the guzheng faded into silence, the resonance lingering like a scent long after its source had vanished. Bai Lanyue didn't blink as the livestream screen went dark. Her fingers remained curled around the wine glass, untouched, her gaze focused and razor-sharp.
"That was it?" she finally said, breaking the silence with a scoff. "A livestream of vague sadness and soft lighting. And they call that a masterpiece?"
Seated beside her, Wen Qing flipped her hair and reached for a grape from the bowl in front of them. "Netizens are in chaos already. Half are weeping over some tragic love story she hasn't told, and the other half are analyzing each note like she encoded secrets in the melody."
Bai Lanyue gave a short, humorless laugh. "They want a ghost story, so she plays the ghost."
Across the room, Shen Yichen leaned back in the armchair, his eyes still on the tablet propped up on the center table. "It's deliberate. No words, no face, just the music. She knows exactly what she's doing. Stirring up just enough emotion to stay relevant without saying a single thing."
"Cowardice wrapped in aesthetics," Bai Lanyue muttered, swirling the wine in her glass. "Let me guess. They're saying it's about heartbreak now?"
"More than heartbreak," Wen Qing grinned, unlocking her phone. "There's already a theory that she's mourning a forbidden love. Someone even clipped a part of the tune and matched it with old videos of Ji Yanluo from years ago."
Bai Lanyue's lips twitched. She wasn't angry—yet. She was entertained. "She thinks she can play me in my own house. Let her try."
"You think it's aimed at Ji Yanluo?" Shen Yichen asked, raising a brow. "Or… you?"
Bai Lanyue's gaze flicked to him with a smile so smooth it almost masked the ice behind it. "I don't care who she's playing to. What matters is that people are still mistaking smoke for fire. She hasn't said a word, hasn't shown her face, and yet somehow she's the tragic heroine."
Wen Qing sighed dramatically. "It's the veil. Mystery is intoxicating when it's well-packaged."
"I could veil myself and hum nursery rhymes, and they'd call it haunting," Bai Lanyue said dryly. "The bar is that low."
Shen Yichen chuckled. "You're not wrong. Still, I have to admit, it's smart. She's dancing around the truth, keeping everyone guessing while you're preparing a banquet to drop it all."
Bai Lanyue leaned back on the couch, her red silk robe catching the light. "Let her keep playing her tune. I don't need to play instruments. I set stages. And when the curtains rise, there won't be room for doubt anymore."
"She must know," Wen Qing said softly. "She must know what you're planning."
"Let her know," Bai Lanyue said. "Let her feel the walls closing in. Let her compose a hundred songs. I don't need music to deliver my finale."
There was a pause as they all sat with the weight of her words.
Outside, rain had begun to patter against the tall windows of the penthouse. The city lights flickered like candle flames beneath the stormy sky, and inside, the mood had shifted—sharpened.
Wen Qing, ever the instigator, tilted her head. "Yichen, what if the veiled musician shows up at the banquet?"
"She wouldn't dare," Bai Lanyue said before he could respond. "Not without risking everything."
Shen Yichen smiled thoughtfully. "Or maybe she's counting on the chaos to protect her. Let's not forget—netizens are more loyal to mystery than truth."
Bai Lanyue's eyes glittered. "Then I'll make the truth impossible to ignore."
Wen Qing clapped her hands once, grinning. "Now that's the spirit."
They laughed. Not the light kind, but the low, calculated kind that tasted like quiet vengeance and red wine. The veiled musician had played her melody, but the real performance hadn't even started yet.
And Bai Lanyue? She didn't need strings. She had facts. She had evidence. And she had a date set to tear the veil off—not just from a face, but from the entire illusion.
As the laughter faded and the rain grew heavier, Bai Lanyue glanced once more at the tablet screen now gone black. The ghost behind the music still clung to the edges of the room, but she wasn't afraid of shadows.
She was the storm. And the stage was hers.