7:00 PM.

The queue at the entrance of Starlight Livehouse already stretched around the street corner.

Of the three thousand people who managed to snag tickets, some had arrived two hours early, standing at the entrance holding up their phones to photograph the performance poster hanging above.

White text on a black background; it was incredibly simple.

As soon as the ticket gates opened, the crowd surged inside.

There was no pushing or shoving, but everyone walked with a brisk pace.

The first batch of audience members to enter the venue stopped almost simultaneously.

There were no dry ice machines, no rising platforms, and none of the flashy gadgets commonly seen at concerts.

In their place stood a grand piano.

Its black lid was half-open, and behind the piano, two sets of guitar amplifiers were placed symmetrically on the left and right.

A drum kit occupied the high platform at the back right of the stage, its metal components gleaming under the lights.

A bass, a keyboard synthesizer, and two backing vocal microphone stands were arranged neatly in their respective positions.

Every instrument was real.

They weren't props or decorations. Even the cables were connected, running from the stage to the mixing console on the side, laid out in tidy rows.

"Holy crap."

A boy in the front row took a photo with his phone, his hands trembling.

His girlfriend beside him gave him a tug. "Don't block the way; the people behind can't get in."

"Look, look at those drums. That's a top-tier kit. I've seen it in music stores; just the snare drum alone costs over twenty thousand."

"...Are you here to listen to a concert or to appraise instruments?"

On social media platforms, real-time posts with photos and text were already starting to flood the feeds.

Someone posted a panoramic shot of the stage with a three-word caption: "It's all real."

The comments section exploded instantly.

"I've seen this setup at jazz festivals. Who uses this for a typical pop concert?"

"Are they really going to play everything live? No backing tracks? What if they mess up..."

"To be honest, I'm a bit nervous—nervous for him."

The three thousand seats were filled within twenty minutes.

Not a single seat was empty.

The buzz inside the venue grew louder and louder as everyone whispered to those beside them, the light from phone screens glowing in patches.

—

Backstage.

Lu Zhixian stood before a full-length mirror, rolling his black shirt sleeves up a bit further to the middle of his forearms.

The shirt was the most ordinary style, with no sequins, no embroidery, and no decorations whatsoever.

Xiao Liu was pacing anxiously nearby. "Boss, the stylist said that custom-made coat..."

"I'm not wearing it."

"But—"

"I'm going on like this."

Lu Zhixian adjusted his collar in the mirror and turned toward the door.

At the end of the corridor, Zhou Yang approached with the band members.

Everyone had changed into their performance clothes—all in dark tones, low-key, and not stealing the spotlight.

The group came together, naturally forming a circle.

Zhou Yang reached his hand into the center.

Chenzi pushed up his glasses and placed his hand on top.

Lao Duan followed. Then the Keyboardist and the members of the String Section, one after another.

Finally, it was Lu Zhixian.

His hand was at the very top.

Zhou Yang looked around at everyone's faces and grinned.

"Let's just do it."

"Let's just do it!"

Their palms broke apart simultaneously as everyone turned to head to their positions.

Lu Zhixian walked to the side door leading to the stage and paused for two seconds.

The cacophony of three thousand people mixed together came from the other side of the door; he could feel the energy even through the door panel.

He stretched his neck and took a deep breath.

He pushed the door open.

Exactly 8:00 PM.

Every light in the house went out without any warning.

All the lights, in an instant, were turned off.

The buzzing discussions were cut off in a fraction of a second.

Three thousand people shut their mouths at once.

Darkness enveloped the entire venue.

Nothing could be seen. Phone screens were also dark; before entering, staff had repeatedly reminded everyone to turn off their phones for the opening segment.

Surprisingly, people actually listened.

Almost everyone had turned them off.

Three thousand people sat in the dark, not even daring to breathe loudly.

Silence.

Then, a single light turned on in the corner of the stage.

The range of the light was just enough to cover the keyboard section of the grand piano.

A figure walked out from the side of the stage.

His face couldn't be seen clearly.

Only the silhouette of a tall man, the lines of his shoulders, and his rolled-up sleeves were visible.

He walked to the piano, pulled out the bench, and sat down.

He raised his hands and placed them on the keys.

When the first note was pressed, a girl in the third row gasped.

That note was very light, as if it had drifted in from afar.

But in this absolutely silent environment, it was terrifyingly clear.

The melody unfolded.

It wasn't a piece meant to show off technical skills. It could even be called simple.

But it was precisely this simplicity that made it impossible for people to pull themselves away.

In the seat next to Su Wan, Lin Shiya had the brim of her baseball cap pulled very low.

Her hands were on her knees, her fingertips unconsciously moving along with the melody against the seam of her pants.

The piano solo lasted for about forty seconds.

Then Lu Zhixian began to sing.

When the first line of vocals came in, something very subtle happened in the venue: the bodies of three thousand people leaned forward slightly at almost the same time.

The movement was so small that they might not have even realized it themselves.

His voice blended with the piano, making it impossible to tell which was the lead and which was the accompaniment.

Su Wan's hand tightened on the armrest.

She had been singing for over a decade. She knew all too well what this "reaching the notes without effort" meant.

It wasn't that no effort was needed; it was that his control was so strong that you couldn't feel him exerting any.

The gap between these two things was a decade's worth of training.

But this person had only debuted half a year ago.

The piano piece entered its final section. The melody returned to the opening theme, but a slight vibrato was added to the vocals.

The very last note of the song was finished by the piano. A long note, slowly dissipating into the air.

Then, it was over.

The warm light on stage remained lit.

Lu Zhixian's hands rested above the keys, not yet withdrawn.

The silence of three thousand people lasted for a full three seconds.

Then, the applause nearly blew the roof off the Livehouse.

Lu Zhixian stood up from the piano bench and walked toward the microphone stand in the center of the stage.

The spotlight finally came on, a white beam of light hitting him.

He took the microphone off the stand and glanced at the audience.

"This is the first new song I've written."

He paused.

"Thank you for being willing to be the first to hear it."

Another wave of screams erupted from the crowd.

Lu Zhixian didn't continue speaking. He turned to look toward the back of the stage.

Zhou Yang was sitting on the drum throne, drumsticks already raised. The two locked eyes across the stage.

Lu Zhixian gave him a nod.

Zhou Yang's drumsticks came down.

The intro to "airport 10:30" exploded.

The drumbeats were dense and fierce, the low frequencies of the bass crawled out from the floor, and the distorted tone of the guitar tore through all the tenderness left by the previous piano piece.

A switch from zero to a hundred with no transition in between.

The emotions of three thousand people were instantly yanked upward.

Someone in the front row stood up, and immediately a large section of the back row followed suit.

Lu Zhixian gripped the microphone and took two steps toward the left side of the stage.

"Oh, yeah..."

"The current flight, it's not even 10:30 yet..."

As soon as the first line of the verse came out, several people who had paid high prices for tickets from scalpers suddenly felt—it was worth it.

"The 10:30 flight is about to arrive."

"The airport is still so crowded."

"I keep drinking..."

This wasn't the polished voice from the recording studio.

It was alive, carrying the raw texture and impact that only a live performance can have.

The breath pushed out from his chest, sounding as steady as if it weren't coming from someone walking back and forth across a stage.

When the chorus reached a sequence of high-pitched notes, Lu Zhixian flicked his right hand and took a step forward, approaching the edge of the stage.

The high notes stacked up layer by layer.

In the front row, Su Wan released her grip on the armrest. She leaned back against the chair and tilted her head up slightly.

Beside her, Lin Shiya turned her head to glance at her.

Su Wan shook her head. Her lips moved, and although her voice was drowned out by the live music, Lin Shiya understood the mouth movements.

Four words.

"This is too ridiculous."

On stage, after Lu Zhixian finished the last long note of the chorus, Lao Duan's guitar solo transitioned in seamlessly. Taking advantage of the gap, he switched the microphone to his left hand and waved his right toward the crowd—three thousand people roared out the first line of the next verse in unison.

He was momentarily stunned.

Then he smiled.

The second song. The third. The fourth.

Each song had a different style. From slow songs to fast ones, from rock to R&B, he changed his singing method for every single one, yet the quality never dropped.

The band behind him was firing on all cylinders. Zhou Yang was drenched in sweat from drumming, Chenzi's bass was as steady as if it were nailed to the floor, and Lao Duan added two improvised sections to his guitar solo, unable to resist shaking his head after finishing.

After four songs.

Lu Zhixian stopped.

He walked to the edge of the stage, where a staff member handed him a bottle of water. He unscrewed the cap, took a couple of gulps, and then turned around to look at the crowd.

The spotlight swept across the audience.

People were screaming.