The sound of piano drifted through the room, quick and unrelenting, each strike of the keys slicing the air until the quiet itself seemed to bleed. Then, a note slipped—harsh, a mistake, echoing through the room like a crack in glass.
The music stopped.
Young Wang Zi Rui stiffened, his fingers hovering over the keys, trembling as though they no longer belonged to him. Silence pressed down, thick and suffocating. He could feel the weight of eyes on him—people's whispers erupted through the room.
He looked into the audience, the spotlights blazing against his skin, blinding yet offering no warmth. His gaze swept the sea of faces, searching, pleading—and then he saw her. His mother.
For a moment, he felt a flicker of relief. But her eyes met his, cold and sharp, disappointment carved into every line of her face. Before he could call out, she turned, slipping into the shadows of the exit.
His chest tightened, breath hitching as the music died in his hands, leaving only the hollow echo of her absence.
She faded into shadow, swallowed by the blinding stage lights. He blinked, but the glow grew brighter, turning white until the concert hall disappeared.
The scene shifted—young Zi Rui lay on a hospital bed, the sterile ceiling humming with silence. His dull eyes wandered to the window. Outside, the world gleamed with color, but to him it was only black and white.
Voices cut through the heavy quiet of the room.
"I'm afraid… his hand can't play anymore."
"Please, doctor, is there no other way?"
"Even with rehabilitation, it would be difficult."
Each word weighed heavier than the last, spreading through the sterile room until silence was gone.
All at once, the harsh voices faded, replaced by something softer—a gentle tune drifting through the night air. The sound curled like breath on glass, tender and delicate. Zi Rui, now slightly older than before, stilled, holding his breath without knowing why.
In the distance, a girl stood with an acoustic guitar that seemed almost too heavy for her slender arms. An oversized white shirt draped over her frame, black jeans grounding her, a red cap shadowing her face.
Then she sang. Her warm, smooth voice wrapped around him like a quiet embrace, stirring something deep and familiar.
Her voice lingered, rekindling the music he thought had long drowned within him. Awe softened his features, a gentle smile unfolding as his eyes lit with quiet wonder.
Just then, the moment faded into light, and Wang Zi Rui opened his eyes to the soft glow of sunlight spilling across his room.
He lay in silence, eyes fixed on the cool black ceiling, as the remnants of his dream sank in.
"I never thought I'd dream of her again," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
Moments later, as he prepared to leave for work, some kind of paper slipped from his bag—it was a ticket. Its letters caught his attention, bold and unrelenting:
"Everbloom Presents: The Final Night. Let the Night Bloom — October 1st — 6 p.m."
He froze. Only then did he recall his sister had given him the ticket days ago. Still, it wasn't the ticket that lingered, but Song Meiqi's face—her dull expression in the elevator unsettling him before he forced the thought aside.
…
Beneath Zi Rui's penthouse lay Meiqi's apartment, the rooms cloaked in a dimness that made it seem as if sunlight could scarcely break through.
Meiqi lay in bed, weak and restless, her body heavy as if the night had taken everything from her. She had cried herself to sleep last night, but even sleep gave her no comfort.
Then her alarm rang, cutting through the heavy silence—a cruel demand dragging her back to a day she had no strength to face.
She stood, her body numb. Dragging herself into the bathroom, her gaze met the mirror—eyes red and swollen, dark circles shadowing them, face pale and hollow. The reflection held a weight she knew too well: betrayal, and the dull, endless ache pressing deep in her chest.
Her hands dug into the sink, knuckles white. Three more days… after the concert… then I can let go. I have to. Facing him now would make her shatter. I can't fall apart now. Not yet… just until the concert ends.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as she stared at herself in the mirror. This was the real her—fragile, broken, barely holding together. Trust came slowly, painfully, yet her dreams were too big to give up.
The industry had hardened her, forced her to wear armor—but when she finally let herself fall, let herself feel love, it tore at the pieces she had stitched together, leaving her hollow, wary, and aching for a world that had already shown its cruelty.
….
Hours later….
Under the bright spotlights, Everbloom ran their last rehearsal. Costumes shimmered with each move, while staff tracked every step and note, ensuring everything would be flawless.
From time to time, Mengyao glanced at Meiqi, guilt gnawing at her after Echo's report on the dating scandal last night. Yet she still couldn't bring herself to confess.
The day slipped by, and night finally descended. On Everbloom's official homepage, a teaser went live, sending waves through their fans:
"EVERBLOOM WORLD TOUR: The Final Night. Let the Night Blossom—Live in H. City, North Wing Stadium, September 30 & October 1."
Comments and likes exploded almost instantly, fans buzzing with excitement, speculating about the setlist, the outfits, the surprises that awaited. The countdown had begun.