The concert hall’s dome was remarkably high, and looking up, the scattered, delicate lights resembled an inverted river of stars.
As the very last tail end of the violin’s notes completely melted and dissipated into the air, the silence lasted for only a fleeting second. Immediately, the applause rushed forth like a rising tide, filling the entire space.
Bai Jianjia gently applauded along with the crowd. Her gaze wasn’t entirely focused on the musicians taking their bows on stage; instead, out of the corner of her eye, she secretly and unassumingly glanced toward her side.
Gu Yuzhou was sitting right beside her.
The lighting in the private box was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow reflected from the stage, which outlined the sharp contours of his profile.
His jawline was taut, lending him a slightly serious expression, but the rhythm of his applause was unhurried. As his fingers rose and fell, they carried a peculiar, steady sense of rhythm, as if he were keeping time with a beat in his heart.
This was… their very first formal date.
The small-scale wave of heated discussions surrounding the rumors of an arranged marriage between her and Gu Yuzhou had only just died down when his invitation arrived.
The message was very simple, attached with two electronic tickets, followed by just a single line of text: “Berlin Philharmonic tour. You might enjoy this.”
She had stared at that line of words for a few seconds before replying with a single word: “Okay.”
Yet a subtle wave of surprise had brushed through her heart—the piece she had played at her graduate student graduation concert was precisely Debussy’s Clair de Lune.
Was it a coincidence, or did he know?
On the way to the concert hall, the black sedan glided smoothly over the brightly lit, colorful streets. At first, the two of them were somewhat silent, with only the faint car fragrance and the low hum of the engine.
Outside the window, the streetscapes flowed past as the lights of the city began to twinkle at dusk.
“Tonight’s performance is by the Berlin Philharmonic.” It was Gu Yuzhou who first broke the quiet. His voice sounded exceptionally clear yet deep within the enclosed car cabin. “The program includes Dvořák’s New World Symphony. I remember Uncle Bai mentioning it in passing during a phone call last time—that you really like this piece.”
Bai Jianjia turned her head in mild surprise.
In the dim light of the car, only the clean-cut silhouette of his profile was visible. “My dad even told you about that?”
“Mm.” He also turned his head to look at her, his gaze behind his glasses appearing deep and hard to read amidst the flowing light and shadows outside the window. “We chatted about it while discussing wedding details. I hope it wasn’t presumptuous.”
“Not at all.” She shook her head, the corners of her lips lifting unconsciously.
Her fingertips brushed absentmindedly over a small bunch of tulips wrapped in plain cotton paper resting on her lap—he had handed them to her naturally just as he picked her up.
The petals were cool and soft, carrying the dew of the early spring night. “I just didn’t expect… that you would remember such a small detail.”
Gu Yuzhou’s gaze lingered on her cheek for a moment.
In the dimness, he seemed to notice the imperceptible curve at the corner of her lips—a very light, fleeting arc that inexplicably made his heart skip a beat.
“Things worth remembering,” he withdrew his gaze, looking back toward the front of the car, his voice as steady as ever, “I will always remember.”
Amidst their conversation, the car had gradually slowed down, coming to a smooth stop under the brightly lit canopy by the riverbank concert hall.
A uniformed doorman stepped forward respectfully to open the car door.
Situated by the river, the concert hall’s architecture was entirely white. When it lit up with warm yellow lights at night, it looked like a giant seashell anchored on the shore.
The staff led them directly to the second-floor private box—the location was exceptionally good, directly facing the center of the stage with an unobstructed, wide view, yet ingeniously designed to avoid the sightlines of most of the audience downstairs, preserving a sense of secluded privacy.
The box was small, furnishing only two deep-blue velvet armchairs, separated by a small round table of the same texture.
Crystal champagne glasses filled with sparkling liquid were already set upon the table, accompanied by a small porcelain dish holding fresh fruit and delicate tea pastries.
As Bai Jianjia sat down, the hem of her gown rustled, shimmering with a pearl-like luster in the dim light.
The lights gradually dimmed, receding slowly like the tide, until finally, only a brilliant beam of light remained above the stage.
The members of the orchestra filed on stage one by one, each taking their seat. The soft tuning of instruments and the shifting of chairs formed the anticipatory, low whispers unique to a performance before it begins.
The concertmaster stood up to tune the strings, a crystal-clear A note piercing the silence.
Amidst this deepening darkness and subtle sound, Bai Jianjia unconsciously looked to her side—Gu Yuzhou was leaning back in his chair, his elbows propped on the armrests, his fingers loosely clasped together.
The stage lights occasionally swept across his glasses, refracting tiny points of light.
She noticed his hands once more.
Even in the dim light, his hands retained their distinct contours.
Right now, they were loosely clasped, a section of his wrist bones exposed from his shirt cuffs, wearing a minimalist mechanical watch.
The melody of the New World Symphony rose at that moment like a tide.
Bai Jianjia gently closed her eyes. When that world-famous, nostalgia-filled slow movement of the second movement was played out solo and with deep affection by the English horn, that heavy yet tender strength instantly captured her breath.
She had always felt that this movement was like grinding ink alone late at night, with the brush tip dragging a long, lingering trace across rice paper—lonely, yet complete in its own right.
And the moment she opened her eyes, through the slightly reflective glass partition in front of the box, she caught a blurry reflection—Gu Yuzhou’s gaze wasn’t on the stage, but rather fixed on her profile.
Her heart skipped a light beat.
Almost simultaneously, the reflection on the glass moved.
Gu Yuzhou turned his head away with absolute naturalness, looking back toward the stage with a relaxed posture, as if that dozen-seconds-long gaze had never existed at all, and everything was merely an illusion born from her intoxication with the music.
The performance ended amidst thunderous applause.
As the crowd dispersed, streams of people intertwined, their laughter and discussions merging into a buzzing background noise.
They did not eagerly rush toward the exit with the tide of people.
“Want to go out to the terrace for some fresh air?” Gu Yuzhou suggested, his voice still clear above the commotion.
Bai Jianjia nodded. “Okay.”
The terrace opened out toward the river, and the evening breeze immediately greeted them, carrying the unique, slightly fishy and damp scent of river water that swept away the warm, stagnant air inside the concert hall.
Bai Jianjia walked over to the railing and looked out into the distance. The river was vast, and the city lights on the opposite shore were as dazzling as an inverted river of stars, while the lights of the boats on the river twinkled like little stars.
“Cold?” His voice sounded beside her, closer than the river breeze, and even deeper.
Today she was wearing a pearl-gray satin evening gown. To cope with the chill of the early spring night, she also wore a light cashmere shawl over the dress. The warmth of the music still lingered in her blood, though the night breeze was indeed somewhat chilly.
She shook her head, just about to say “I’m fine,” when her shoulders suddenly sank.
A thick, heavy coat carrying his body heat fell over her shoulders. It was a dark cashmere material, still radiating warmth from him.
The wide hem of the coat drooped down, practically wrapping her entire body within it, leaving only a slightly upturned, somewhat startled face exposed.
His movement was natural and fluid, like the most ordinary gesture of a gentleman.
Yet Bai Jianjia distinctly felt that the very moment the fabric draped down, his fingers, while helping her adjust the collar, accidentally and very briefly brushed against a small patch of bare skin on the side of her neck.
It was slightly cool, carrying the texture of light calluses, like being grazed by a faint electric current.
Both of them froze at the same time.
Bai Jianjia could clearly feel the tips of her ears burning.
She didn’t dare to move, not even daring to breathe, forced to let that sensation burn against her skin.
The night sky concealed her instantly flushed cheeks, but could not hide her slightly trembling eyelashes.
“…Thank you.” After a long while, she finally found her voice, light as a sigh, melting into the river breeze.
Gu Yuzhou had already pulled his hand back, looking out over the river with a calm expression. If one looked closely, however, they might notice his fingers twitching and curling imperceptibly for a fraction of a second before relaxing again, as if unconsciously capturing and then releasing some fleeting touch.
The coat still carried his warmth, the heat slowly seeping into her skin. The scent she had noticed earlier from him was now clearer, mixed with a hint of faint ink fragrance—he must have been writing earlier today.
The atmosphere stagnated subtly for a few seconds. Whispers from other audience members drifted across the terrace, and while the river breeze whipped through her stray locks, it could not blow away the lingering trace of panic in her heart.
“About the wedding,” he spoke suddenly, his voice lower than usual as if afraid of disturbing the fragile quiet, or perhaps because the topic itself carried weight, “do you have any special thoughts, or… a preferred style?”
Bai Jianjia startled slightly, instinctively pulling the collar of the coat tighter around her shoulders. The friction of the fabric produced a faint rustling sound. She pondered for a moment before answering cautiously: “I… don’t have any special thoughts. We can just follow the traditions of both families and go through the normal procedures.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she herself felt the reply was overly generic, bordering on perfunctory.
Yet what else could she say? Was she supposed to discuss right now whether her wedding dress should be lace or satin, whether the bouquet should feature roses or lilies, and how their vows should be written?
The thin veil connecting them through an arranged marriage—one not yet steeped in genuine, intimate emotion—was not yet thick enough to support such concrete and private discussions.