Chapter 82
At the concert. Inside the massive arena, the sound surged like waves, and countless light sticks formed a dazzling sea of stars, swaying to the rhythm. The screams and cheers threatened to lift the roof off the stage. Ling Yao, at the center of the stage, was the absolute master. Every glance, every dance move, elicited an even more enthusiastic response. He shone so brightly, so perfectly that he seemed unreal.
Su Rui, hidden among the thousands of fans in the audience, sat in a relatively secluded spot with an excellent view. He wore a hat and a mask, his heartbeat in sync with the deafening drumbeats. Surrounded by a seething ocean, he felt as if encased in a transparent hood, all his senses focused solely on the man on the stage.
Song after song pushed the atmosphere to a climax. Ling Yao's performance was impeccable.
Finally, after a brief VCR transition, the stage lighting changed. The dancers retreated, and the intense music stopped. Only a beam of pure white light remained, shining in the center of the stage.
Ling Yao changed into a simple white suit and sat in front of a white piano. The noise in the venue gradually subsided, replaced by a silence full of expectation.
He didn't say much, just adjusted the microphone, his eyes lowered, as if lost in his own world. Then, his slender fingers gently touched the keys, and melody after melody slowly flowed out.
After the prelude, he raised his eyes and scanned the boundless sea of stars below the stage. His eyes held a deep tenderness that was completely different from the one he had worn while singing and dancing before. He began to sing.
The lyrics skillfully blend sincere emotions, telling of encounters in solitude, protection amidst the clamor, and a silent yet steadfast promise. The melody is beautiful and moving, enough to resonate with any listener. But to Su Rui, every note and every line takes on a completely different meaning.
Those images—"unknown starlight," "the lingering warmth of the palm," "the courage against the wind," "a promise farther than forever"—all precisely correspond to the intimate memories and shared experiences that belong only to the two of them. Ling Yao's voice is imbued with unprecedented emotion, no longer a display of flawless technique, but one that carries a genuine vulnerability and tenderness.
He sang about a story that only the two of them understood, but he used a universal language that made everyone think he was singing about dreams or fans.
Su Rui sat stiffly in her seat, lips slightly parted beneath her mask, forgetting to breathe. The cheers and the sea of fluorescent lights around her seemed to fade and vanish in an instant. The only thing left in the world was the person playing and singing under that beam of light, and the encrypted love letter that only he could fully understand.
The overwhelming emotion washed over him like a tsunami. His eyes quickly heated up and turned red, his vision blurring. Warm liquid gushed out uncontrollably, quickly soaking the lining of his mask. He bit his lower lip hard, trying not to let a sob escape, but his body trembled slightly from the effort of suppressing emotion.
He understood. He understood the thrilling romance and confession Ling Yao had carefully concealed within the melody and lyrics, beneath this grand occasion, dedicated just to him. It was an extreme adventure, yet also Ling Yao's meticulously calculated "safety."
The song ended. The last piano note slowly faded into the air.
Ling Yao's fingers remained on the piano keys. He breathed slightly, raised his head, and glanced at the audience again. His expression had regained the composure of a superstar, even a faint smile after the performance, as he accepted the thunderous applause and screams from the audience.
There were no special hints or unnecessary words, as if this was just a touching new song.
But at the moment he stood up and bowed, his gaze seemed to pass over the area where Su Rui was very briefly and inconspicuously, as fast as an illusion, and then moved away.
However, for Su Rui, that few tenths of a second of eye contact was enough.
Amidst the boiling noise, he lowered his head, tears silently streaming down his face. His hands, hidden in his sleeves, clenched into fists, his nails digging deep into his palms, trying to use the pain to suppress the surging emotions that threatened to tear him apart.
That song, that brief, almost non-existent eye contact, weighed heavier than any straightforward declaration, hitting his heart hard, causing him pain, yet also making him feel a kind of almost suffocating and cherished happiness.
He came. He heard.
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