Not hard, my life is hard.

“But thankfully, it’s almost over.”

Lu Xing held the senior sister’s hand. At this time, the lights in the concert hall dimmed, hiding his expression.

Rationality is a self-protection mechanism for those who lack trump cards.

Because there is no one standing behind you, you have to use logic to analyze and calculate every move.

This is also why social media always talks about the “sense of relaxation” that rich people have.

When your hand is full of trump cards, of course you have confidence. You can afford to be fearless and casual.

As the lights hit the center of the stage, the host walked out.

The air conditioning was blasting, and the chill seeped into Lu Xing’s body. His head felt dizzy, and he began to regret saying so much.

The most painful thing in a story isn’t a villain doing evil; it’s that nobody did anything wrong, yet things still slide irretrievably toward a bad end.

Lu Xing took the senior sister’s hands in both of his, rubbing them gently.

“Are you cold?” he whispered.

“No.”

Liu Qingqing liked the feeling of him holding her hands tightly, as if the two of them were truly intimate.

After hearing what he had just said, she realized how lucky she was.

If she had told him her real name back then…

Knowing Lu Xing, he might have smiled and acted normal on the surface, but he would have vanished from her life immediately.

She was lucky, but she was also the most unfortunate.

Lucky because…

While other clients could only get 30% of the way into Lu Xing’s heart, her progress with him had already reached 80%.

Unfortunate because…

Lu Xing ended his contracts with those other clients peacefully. They could still be acquaintances. But between her and Lu Xing, a collision was inevitable, a life-or-death struggle.

It was only a matter of time.

Liu Qingqing stared blankly at the spotlight on stage.

If you want to play tricks, you have to be smart. If you aren’t smart enough, you have to be honest.

Unfortunately, she was neither.

She had misjudged Lu Xing’s principles.

She didn’t want to affect his exams, so she had planned to tell him the truth right after they were over.

But after hearing him just now…

She was even more afraid.

Logically, among all those clients, there had to be at least one obsessed fool who wanted to marry him, right?

But Lu Xing was still single.

His rigid principles terrified her.

The girl on the phone was just an ex-client, yet his words about her were already so cold.

If it were her…

Liu Qingqing had never felt that being a person was so difficult.

What should she do?

The concert was a memorial for the 20th anniversary of a famous composer’s death.

When he passed, he had said, “If you miss me, don’t cry. Play the piano and sing. I am with the music.”

Because of that, his old friends had organized this performance. The atmosphere wasn’t overly stiff or serious.

What’s the saying? If you outlive the master, you become the master.

An old-timer who has spent decades in the arts usually makes a name for himself.

Lu Xing glanced around. The hall was packed.

By the way.

He didn’t see a single acquaintance in the audience. That was the best news he’d had all day.

He relaxed instantly.

The host finished the introduction, and the first performer took the stage, a young girl singing Bel Canto.

Lu Xing heard the name: Zhao Yeye. Her teacher was a close friend of the composer’s widow.

Not bad.

The art world is a small circle. The old guard is aging, so they have to push their students into the spotlight.

What do you call it?

The old leading the new?

Once the song finished, Lu Xing turned to the senior sister.

“Was it good?”

“I think I sing better in the shower,” Liu Qingqing joked. “It was okay.”

Lu Xing was confused.

“Is there a ‘not okay’?”

Liu Qingqing thought for a moment. “The technique is there, but the emotion isn’t.”

Emotion is the soul of singing.

In pop music, some singers have terrible technique, but their raw, hoarse delivery moves the audience.

The audience isn’t just listening to a song; they are looking for resonance and empathy.

But that’s usually a pop music thing. This Zhao Yeye’s fundamentals were solid.

They listened to a few more songs, a mix of Bel Canto, folk, and pop. The composer clearly had a diverse group of friends.

Lu Xing swallowed, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

‘I’m screwed. I definitely have a fever. Damn it.’

Tomorrow was Auntie Wen’s birthday. He had to load up on medicine tonight. He couldn’t let this ruin his performance tomorrow.

His mind drifted to his plans for the next day.

Before he does anything, he always visualizes the worst-case scenario and how to fix it.

It’s pessimistic, but useful.

As he sat there, the cold air hit him again, and his head felt heavier.

“Next, please welcome the student of Ms. Song Liye, Xia Yeshuang…”

Snap! Lu Xing jolted upright.

Holy crap! She’s here! It was Xia Yeshuang (the black-haired version)!

Are you kidding me? Watching Xia Yeshuang walk to the center of the stage, looking dignified and elegant with her natural black hair, Lu Xing felt like the world had finally lost its mind.

But thinking about it, it made sense.

If Xia Yeshuang had tried to sing traditional Chinese music with her usual golden hair, she would have looked like a Barbie doll trying to join a revolutionary choir.

It seemed “Little Goldie” took her career seriously.

But Lu Xing was panicking.

He immediately pulled out his phone to look up the composer’s history and connections.

When he saw on Baidu Baike that the composer’s wife was a master of the Mei school of Peking Opera, and that she had an apprentice named Chi Yueshan…

Lu Xing’s heart finally sank.

My younger brother is pregnant and I need to go see him. Can I get a refund, big sister?

…

…

[Challenge Goal 2 :

Mission: Reach 7 reviews for this novel on NovelUpdates.

Reward: One additional chapter.

Progress: 4/7.]

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