Starlight

After a period of intense preparation, the album Starlight, created by Ji Yichen based on Lu Qianqian's experiences, was finally completed.

Today was the day of Starlight's release event.

The venue was a small theater at the Jingzhou Cultural Center.

Under the spotlight in the theater, there was no host, no flashy procedures.

Only an empty sofa and two standing microphones.

Simple, solemn—like a serious briefing.

The seats were filled with Xia Country's top-tier media and the harshest music critics.

Their expressions varied—curiosity, scrutiny, or a hint of disdain.

They were here for Ji Yichen.

They wanted to see how this "god" of the indie music scene would be dragged down from his pedestal, reduced to a pawn of capital.

Backstage, Lu Qianqian held a cup of warm water, her palms slightly damp with sweat.

This was her first time facing so many cameras and critical gazes.

The tension it brought her was no less than when she had fled through war-torn regions with Ji Wushuang.

"Nervous?"

Ji Yichen's voice sounded beside her.

He was as aloof as ever, wearing a crisply ironed black shirt, leaning against the wall like a silent statue.

"A little," Lu Qianqian admitted honestly.

What she didn’t say was that even in life-or-death situations, she might not have felt as tense as she did today.

Because she was afraid—afraid she wouldn’t do justice to those stories, afraid she would fail the weight of the trust placed in her.

"You’re not speaking for them," Ji Yichen said, his gaze drifting past her into the distance.

"You’re speaking for the people those stories belong to."

His words were like a breeze, instantly dispelling the hesitation clouding Lu Qianqian’s heart.

Yes, she wasn’t here to perform.

She was here to give voice.

Lu Qianqian took a deep breath and nodded.

"Let’s go," Ji Yichen said, stepping forward first.

The two walked onto the stage, one after the other, as the spotlight followed them.

Lu Qianqian stood at the center of the stage.

She didn’t look at anyone in the audience, simply standing there quietly.

The entire theater fell into absolute silence.

"Hello, I’m Lu Qianqian from the Horizon Foundation," her voice carried clearly through the microphone.

"Today, I won’t talk about the album or the music.

I want to share with you a few lives I’ve crossed paths with."

And so she began.

She spoke of the child in a border town who chased the wind on a wooden prosthetic leg.

She spoke of the nurse in a field hospital who sang to soothe the wounded.

She spoke of the old man who, after the floodwaters receded, planted a flag atop the ruins.

Her voice was calm, free of embellishment or melodrama.

Like an objective camera, she projected vivid, real images into everyone’s minds.

In the front row, Lou Mengling and Wang Lan sat side by side.

Wang Lan clutched Lou Mengling’s hand, her fingers icy.

She stared at Lu Qianqian on stage, her eyes filled with stunned disbelief.

She had always thought this was a sheltered girl, untouched by the harshness of the world.

She never imagined those eyes had witnessed something so vast and heavy.

Lou Mengling gently patted Wang Lan’s hand, her own eyes brimming with tears.

Pride, heartache, relief.

Her daughter had truly grown up.

Lu Qianqian finished speaking.

She didn’t utter a single promotional line about the album—only bowed deeply to the audience.

Then she stepped aside, leaving the stage to Ji Yichen.

Ji Yichen walked to the microphone, guitar in hand, not even glancing at the crowd.

Then the strings sounded.

The first note seized everyone’s soul.

The music carried wind, dust, gunfire, weeping—and silent cries.

Then he began to sing.

His voice was rough, as if weathered by sand and stone.

The lyrics cut like knives, etching every detail of Lu Qianqian’s stories into the air.

This wasn’t a song.

It was an echo of reality.

A solitary soul resonating with countless others struggling in distant places.

A notoriously sharp-tongued music critic in the audience silently removed his glasses.

Looking at Ji Yichen on stage, he suddenly understood.

This man hadn’t fallen.

He had simply found a translator—

Someone who could interpret this raw, brutal, yet fiercely alive world for him.

The performance ended.

There was no applause, only a long, deathly silence.

Then, someone—no one knew who—stood up and began clapping fiercely.

The applause erupted like thunder, unending.

The celebration was held at a low-key private club.

Lu Chenyan, flushed with excitement, raised his glass to everyone he met.

"That’s my sister," he kept saying. "That’s my sister."

Lu Qianqian was overwhelmed by the lively atmosphere.

Once upon a time, she would have reveled in being the center of attention.

But after more than a year of trials, this kind of fanfare no longer stirred her.

She, Lu Qianqian, the former little princess of the Lu family, no longer belonged here.

And there was one other person who had never belonged here—Ji Yichen.

The two exchanged a glance and wordlessly slipped out to the quiet terrace.

"They loved it," Lu Qianqian said softly, leaning against the railing.

"Mm," Ji Yichen replied, as concise as ever.

"Your music gave those stories wings," she turned to look at him. "Thank you."

"Your stories gave my music a heart," he met her gaze, his expression uncharacteristically earnest. "I should be thanking you."

A comfortable silence settled between them.

Not awkward—just the quiet understanding of comrades after a battle.

"What’s next for you?" Ji Yichen asked.

"Next month, I’m going to the Pamir Plateau," Lu Qianqian’s eyes brightened. "There’s a school on a cliff there, with only one teacher who’s kept it running for thirty years."

Ji Yichen studied the light in her eyes and nodded.

"Need a soundtrack?"

Lu Qianqian blinked, then laughed.

Her smile was like sunshine after rain—bright and warm.

"Of course."

"Then it’s settled."

Ji Yichen extended his hand to her—an equal gesture, one ally to another.

Lu Qianqian clasped it firmly.

"Deal."

Inside the banquet hall, Lou Mengling and Wang Lan stood by the window, watching the scene on the terrace.

From their angle, they could only see the two standing side by side before Ji Yichen reached out, and Lu Qianqian smiled as she took his hand.

"Mengling, look!" Wang Lan grabbed Lou Mengling’s hand, her voice trembling with barely contained joy. "Our Yichen—he initiated a handshake with Qianqian!"

She could hardly believe her eyes.

Her son, who was always guarded and distant with everyone, had looked at a girl with such focused intensity.

"I thought he’d never interact with a girl in his life," Wang Lan exhaled, her eyes moist.

Lou Mengling smiled too, a weight lifting from her heart.

She recalled how Lu Qianqian had once declared with conviction, "Men will only hold me back."

"Seems it wasn’t men holding her back—she just hadn’t met the right one yet," Lou Mengling remarked with satisfaction.

The two mothers exchanged a glance, their eyes brimming with understanding and joy.

To them, this shared purpose and companionship was unmistakably the beginning of love.

As for what the future held, they would leave that to the future.

…………

The sales of Starlight didn’t skyrocket like the "Limitless" car.

Instead, it flowed like a quiet river, unnoticed by the mainstream.

Yet in late-night radio shows, in university dorm rooms, on the phones of volunteer teachers in remote areas, and in the camps of peacekeeping troops overseas…

This album played on repeat.

It didn’t become a blockbuster, but it became a kind of faith.

And all of this was just the beginning.

Lu Qianqian and Ji Yichen’s journey into the distance had only just set sail.