{Chapter: 171 Qiao Jianye: What have you done to my daughter?}
'Is there something wrong with my charm?'
'Even a middle-aged uncle is captivated by me???'
That was Lin Yuan's immediate thought as he noticed the man shouting at him, his face serious and his voice commanding.
Luckily, things weren't quite as ridiculous as Lin Yuan feared.
The man took a step forward and spoke in a deep voice, "I'm Qiao Siying's father—Qiao Jianye. Whatever it is you've done to my daughter… we'll talk about it later!"
Qiao Jianye's words left a sudden tension in the air. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but noticing the dozens of curious eyes now focused on him and his daughter, he clenched his jaw and chose to stay quiet—for now.
His gaze lingered on Lin Yuan, cold and intense, before he stepped back into the crowd.
The truth was, Qiao Siying had come to the banquet simply to catch a glimpse of the famous singer behind Blue and White Porcelain. She hadn't expected any drama beyond that.
But Qiao Jianye, her father, came with a different mission.
He had heard that someone had been bullying his precious daughter—and that someone, he was told, was named Lin Yuan.
Though he had heard the name tossed around more than once, he had never actually seen the young man in person. All he had were vague impressions and scattered rumors.
So, after arriving at the banquet, Qiao Jianye wasted no time. He cornered Tang Bowen, an acquaintance, and asked him to point out this so-called Lin Yuan.
Tang Bowen had nodded and silently raised a hand toward the stage—where Lin Yuan now stood, drawing everyone's attention.
At that moment, Qiao Jianye's brows furrowed.
So that's the boy? The one who dares to mistreat my daughter? If that's the case, what kind of good upbringing could he possibly have? And now he's about to play the piano? Hah. I bet it's going to be a disaster.
Even though the room was crowded, Qiao Jianye was determined.
The moment Lin Yuan made a fool of himself, he'd march up there and teach him a lesson he'd never forget.
Back onstage, Lin Yuan still hadn't pieced together the identity of the man who shouted. Without dwelling on it further, he turned to face the piano.
"Master Lin, please take your seat," Ye Feng said, standing up and gesturing politely—though his smile was thin and clearly forced. Deep down, Ye Feng was sure Lin Yuan would soon embarrass himself.
But Lin Yuan didn't bother with pleasantries.
He calmly walked up to the bench, took his seat at the piano, and then turned to Ye Feng, waving his hand dismissively.
"You can step down now," he said coolly. "And while you're at it, listen closely and study hard."
His tone was sharp, his words blunt. It wasn't just disrespectful—it was openly arrogant.
The wave of his hand was like someone swatting away a fly. He acted as if Ye Feng didn't belong on the same stage as him, as if he were giving a generous opportunity for a lesser being to learn something.
What the hell?!
Ye Feng's face remained composed, but inside, he was seething. Lin Yuan's words echoed in his head like thunder. Listen carefully and study hard? What an unbelievably condescending thing to say.
In his mind, Ye Feng cursed him a hundred times over.
Sure enough, the arrogance of a young master knew no limits. Ye Feng had always felt that beneath the surface, these types were just entitled brats. Now he was certain of it.
Initially, Ye Feng had been cautious—he had even respected Gu Qingshan's high evaluation of Lin Yuan. But now? Now he believed Lin Yuan was nothing more than a loud-mouthed fraud.
Still, Ye Feng didn't say a word.
Instead, he smirked faintly and turned to walk off the stage. Let's see how long your confidence lasts, he thought to himself. Once you fumble your way through a few notes and embarrass yourself, I'll return to the stage and play again. Then the entire room will see the difference. My performance will shine, and yours will be trash in comparison.
The audience, too, had their own thoughts about Lin Yuan's behavior.
Many of them were displeased.
From their perspective, Lin Yuan's attitude was far too arrogant. He wasn't just challenging Ye Feng—he was looking down on everyone. That kind of superiority rubbed many the wrong way, especially when most didn't believe he had the skill to back it up.
"I've never seen such arrogance."
"Does he really think he's better than Ye Feng?"
"Even if he knows a little piano, he's gone too far with that attitude."
The discontented whispers spread across the hall like ripples in water.
Of course, not everyone felt that way.
Yan Ruyue, Gui Qingtong, and Yu Shanshan had all heard Lin Yuan play before. They had witnessed his true ability and knew it was anything but ordinary.
Rather than worrying, they looked forward to what he would do next.
Their eyes sparkled with anticipation.
Let them doubt him, Yan Ruyue thought silently. They won't be laughing in a moment.
Amidst all the doubt, the murmurs, and the sharp criticism, Lin Yuan sat quietly on the bench.
He didn't defend himself. He didn't glare back at the audience or argue.
He simply lifted his hands, placed his fingers on the ivory keys of the grand piano—and began to glide his hand smoothly from the first key to the last, running his fingers in a soft sweep across the board.
Then, in a calm and unhurried tone, Lin Yuan said, "Since this is meant to be a demonstration… I will also play Ballade pour Adeline, just like the layman before me."
Although Lin Yuan was clearly referring to Ye Feng when he said "layman," the crowd didn't quite take it at face value. Many didn't catch the insult, and those who did simply assumed it was another arrogant remark from a spoiled rich youth.
Ye Feng's face darkened instantly.
But Lin Yuan didn't spare him a glance. He paid no attention to the angry whispers in the crowd, nor to the judgmental looks cast his way. His focus was already shifting inward.
He took his seat at the piano once more.
Placing his hands on the keys, Lin Yuan took a deep breath—and in the blink of an eye, everything around him faded away.
The glittering chandeliers, the sea of elegant guests in suits and gowns, the ambient hum of conversation—it all melted into nothingness.
In that moment, there was only Lin Yuan and the grand Steinway piano before him.
His pale, slender fingers began to move.
They danced effortlessly across the black and white keys, as though each note flowed not from memory or practice, but from his very soul.
The first gentle notes echoed across the massive banquet hall.
And just like that—the noise stopped.
It was as if the entire space had been struck silent by an invisible force.
Not a single cough, breath, or murmur followed.
Even the softest sound, like the drop of a pin, could now be heard with crystal clarity.
Hundreds of guests, regardless of what they were doing a second ago—whether mocking Lin Yuan, doubting his talent, or whispering in disdain—had all gone still. Their gazes were locked on the young man at the piano.
It was as though his music reached out and grasped their hearts directly.
The melody was elegant, yet powerful. Soft, yet profound. It didn't simply sound good—it stirred something deep within them.
Yan Ruyue, Gui Qingtong, and Yu Shanshan had all heard Lin Yuan perform before. They were prepared for this.
The moment the first note rang out, they leaned back with serene smiles, their postures relaxed, their eyes gently closing. They allowed themselves to be carried away by the music like feathers on a breeze.
But for those hearing him for the first time—like Mei Yuxian and Qiao Siying—the experience was nothing short of astonishing.
They were instantly overwhelmed by the richness of the notes, swept away by a current of emotion they couldn't resist.
Even Qiao Jianye, who had arrived with the sole purpose of confronting Lin Yuan and putting him in his place, froze in his tracks. His footsteps stopped mid-stride, his clenched fists loosened, and the fire in his eyes dimmed.
Ye Feng, who had been waiting with bated breath to witness Lin Yuan fail, suddenly felt as if his own heart had skipped a beat. His smug anticipation turned into wide-eyed disbelief.
After the gentle prelude, the piece began to unfold like a blooming flower.
The sound of the piano grew fuller and brighter, rippling through the vast banquet hall like a rising tide.
No one moved. No one dared to break the moment.
It was no longer just a performance. It was a spell.
Despite playing the exact same song that Ye Feng had performed earlier—using the same sheet music, the same structure, the same notes—what Lin Yuan brought to life was entirely different.
This wasn't just a comparison in skill.
It was a realization—clear and undeniable—as simple and absolute as 1 + 1 = 2.
Lin Yuan's rendition had transcended the notes on the page. He was telling a story with every press of the key.
The song, Ballade pour Adeline, seemed to come alive in a way no one had anticipated.
As the audience listened, their minds filled with vivid imagery, almost as though they were watching a dream unfold before their very eyes.
It was like a cinematic experience—but one woven entirely through sound.
In the story his music told, there once lived a lonely king.
By a tranquil lake, he sculpted a statue of a beautiful maiden, perfect in every detail.
He gazed at her every day, eventually falling deeply in love with the image he had created. So strong was his love, so pure his longing, that he prayed endlessly to the gods to grant her life.
His prayers did not go unheard.
The goddess of love, Aphrodite, moved by the king's sincerity and passion, breathed life into the statue—and named her Adeline.
And so, the king and Adeline lived in happiness, bound by a love born of devotion and the miraculous grace of the divine.
The story was simple, almost fairy tale-like, and perhaps even cliché by modern standards.
But the music that carried it—played by Lin Yuan's hands—made it feel sacred, eternal.
It was not something the audience merely heard.
It was something they experienced.
Through the emotions in the melody, they felt the king's solitude, his obsession, his yearning, his unwavering faith, and his overwhelming joy when his wish was finally granted.
Each note tugged at the strings of the soul.
People began to cry—quietly at first.
Women dabbed their eyes with silk handkerchiefs, unable to hold back the emotion that rose within them.
Even some of the men, who prided themselves on composure, found themselves misty-eyed.
Among them was Qiao Jianye.
A seasoned man who had seen war and bloodshed, negotiated billion-dollar deals, and ruled boardrooms with an iron will—yet now, he stood motionless, tears clinging to the corners of his eyes, moved by the love of a long-dead king for a woman made of stone.
*****
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