Chapter Ninety-Seven: The Exquisite Stage (Part Two)

As the notes of the piano and flute continued to intertwine, a pink rose blossomed at the center of the stage, slowly spinning and rising. Gradually, it scattered into countless pink petals, as if drawn by the aura between the two performers, swirling gracefully around them. The entire stage seemed bathed in a rosy glow.

“Wow, it’s so beautiful.” As the rose petals spread across the entire venue, a dreamy atmosphere filled the air. The sentimental girls were starry-eyed, utterly captivated by the enchanting scene before them.

“Holographic effects—they really spared no expense,” an informed audience member remarked. “But it’s so beautiful, perfectly in sync with the song, not a hint of discord.”

“I want to return to the past,
Try to let the story go on,
At least not let you leave me again.
Distract time’s attention,
This time I’d hold you tighter,
But who knows if it’s too late
To make you stay—
I want to return to the past.”

The piano’s melody was mellow, the flute’s tone ethereal, and the singing flowed with endless loneliness and longing. To return to the past, to that sweet time filled with daily training, playful banter, cooking delicious meals together, reading the same book, scheming to get time off for dates, debating over the composition of a song, crying over a film’s moving scene—when I was sad, you held me and comforted me softly; when you wept, I embraced you and told you not to fear, that everything would be alright because you had me.

To return to the past, to that exuberance of ten years ago, when performing a song perfectly would make my heart blossom with joy. Every time I stepped onto the stage, my whole being would thrill and tremble. Every word of concern from a fan would bring happiness for days, and even the endless bouquets that once felt like a bother now seem a happy trouble in retrospect.

But the past is gone, irretrievable. All that’s left is to let it go, look ahead, and bury those memories deep within the heart—only to be recalled in the quiet of the night, to be missed for a moment, and then put away again as one gathers their emotions to begin a new journey.

To return to the past is, in the end, impossible.

The piano and flute soared into a sky filled with stars and a bright moon, blending with the rain of pink petals, swirling in a graceful dance. It was as if the clamor of heaven and earth had woven into a splendid tapestry—a living, breathing painting, a pure and mystical song from the heavens.

As the song ended, the rose petals vanished in midair. With the final note played, Lin Qihua rose and, hand in hand with Lian Yuling, took a bow with gentle smiles. The audience, only now realizing their eyes were moist, responded with a fervent standing ovation, offering their most enthusiastic applause for such a breathtaking performance.

“That was incredible, truly astonishing.”

“A match made in heaven.”

“The Prince of Piano and the Goddess of Flute—a flawless duet.”

The enthusiasm was so overwhelming that Lin Qihua and Lian Yuling had to bow a second time before finally leaving the stage.

In front of her television, Zhao Wanting turned off the set and curled up in the darkness, letting her tears flow freely. Yes, who doesn’t wish to return to the past? Who doesn’t yearn for those carefree, cherished, and beloved days? But it’s gone—never to return.

“That was so beautiful.” In a dorm room at Beijing Film Academy, Gu Yuhan and her roommates watched the program together. Even she rarely gave such praise.

“That’s rare,” her roommate remarked in surprise. “But it makes sense. This Lin Qihua always brings surprises. Last time with his song ‘Once Was You,’ the boys were crazy about it—singing on the field late at night after drinking, playing it on repeat even though it sounded awful.”

“Yeah,” another roommate laughed, “and this time he chose a love song like ‘Return to the Past,’ pulled out his killer move—a piano and flute duet, plus the holographic effects. Just watching on TV makes your heart flutter, let alone being there in person.”

“He really is impressive,” Gu Yuhan said softly.

“It’s rare for you to praise a singer,” her roommate teased. “Something major must have happened. If the boys at school knew, wouldn’t they go wild?”

Gu Yuhan ignored the banter. In her view, good was good—no need to hide it. Still so young, already standing at the top. The outside world speculated how long it would take after her graduation for her to become a ‘diva’ in the entertainment industry—a pointless question in her eyes. She simply loved acting, not fame. Yet standing so high was indeed a bit lonely. It was nice to see a fellow talent who seemed interesting too. She only hoped he could weather the storms ahead.

Backstage at “The Singer.”

“So, how do you feel?” Lin Qihua asked with a smile.

“Satisfied,” Lian Yuling replied, eyes closed as if savoring the thrill of the stage just moments before.

“Haha, that means you belong here. So, interested in making a comeback? If you do, I’ll personally produce an album for you—one that will take the world by storm.” Lin Qihua’s eyes were full of anticipation. In his view, Lian Yuling’s talent was extraordinary—she’d be a top star if she returned.

“No,” Lian Yuling didn’t deny her momentary longing, but she still shook her head. “The company’s future belongs to you all, not me. If I come back, there’ll be too many uncertainties, too many disadvantages. I’m content just to feel the stage now and then. The rest, I’ll leave to you, Xiao Xiao, and Lei Jing.”

“That’s really a pity,” Su Jianhao, standing nearby, sighed. “If you returned, it would be sensational.”

“Boring,” Lian Yuling tossed the words over her shoulder and left. She wouldn’t follow Lin Qihua to the waiting area, had no intention of re-entering that world, and didn’t want to involve others. A little fun was fine, but too much attention would bring trouble.

“What a shame.” Su Jianhao muttered, then brightened—Lin Qihua’s performance tonight had worried him at first, but the audience’s reaction said it all.

“You can even turn a love song into something extraordinary. You really are remarkable.” He gave Lin Qihua a thumbs-up.

“Just luck,” Lin Qihua replied with a smile.

On stage, Guan Shengjie walked up with a wry smile. “That was a fantastic performance—I was so mesmerized I almost forgot it was my turn to host.”

The audience burst into appreciative laughter.

“But Lin Qihua, you’re really something—always pulling off these stunts. Think of the pressure you put on the singers who come after you!” Guan Shengjie put on a mock-crying face. “And unfortunately, the next one up is me. What did I ever do to you?”

The audience erupted in laughter, with many cheering him on.

“Don’t worry, I’ll sing my best and won’t let you down. And let Qihua know—I’m not afraid of you!”

Once again, the audience roared with laughter.