Across the forum, the rooms exploded with noise. Yu Shuying's hardcore fan base had been launching a relentless barrage of criticism, but in an instant, the screen quieted. They froze.
On screen, the playback continued, carrying the quiet, breathless sigh of world-renowned pianist Park Lengyue: "The enemy of my life... the one opponent I could never defeat in this lifetime."
The footage flashed back twelve years. At the entrance of City Railway Station, a man sat before a battered, second-hand German piano. He wore a faded, worn coat. Though his clothes were old and his face pale with illness, his posture was immaculate, and his smile held a profound, quiet warmth. Ignorant of the disdainful glances from the rushing crowd, he murmured calmly to himself, "I'm waiting for someone. He'll be here soon."
In that fleeting moment, man and instrument merged into one. Pure elegance bloomed amidst the grime of the public station. The toxic commentary evaporated into stunned silence as the fans stared at the screen in utter disbelief.
"Impossible!"
"Was he really trying to challenge the master pianist himself?"
"This... he's so sick, how could he..."
Inside the room, Zhang Cihai wept. In his fifties, a veteran of the industry, he had not cried in decades. But watching the screen, he remembered the words his late father used to repeat to him: "If you want to move forward and walk out of this mountain village, I will pull you with every ounce of strength I have."
Behind those words was a man whose back had been permanently bent by backbreaking manual labor. I knew it... Disease could never defeat you.
Zhang Cihai stared at the monitor while those words echoed in his mind. Beneath his bright, tear-glistening eyes lay ten thousand unspoken sentences, all buried deep within his heart.
By now, concurrent viewers across the integrated streaming platforms had surged past forty million. The top trending topic on Slag Wave's hot search list burned in bold red text: "A Father Who Has Hidden Himself for a Lifetime."
Everyone was rewatching the footage.
Twelve years ago, Railway Station. 5:50 PM. A cold wind swept over the entrance where an old, scuffed German piano stood. The snow had thinned, revealing a rare crimson sunset melting into the evening sky. Passersby pointed and whispered at Yu Ye, who sat calmly on the wooden bench.
"Are you really going to sit there until the station cops haul you away?" a woman scolded nearby.
Yu Ye glanced down at his cheap, battered wristwatch. 5:59 PM. That's it. He lifted his head and offered the woman a faint smile. It was a strikingly beautiful smile, transcending gender, so full of warmth that it disarmed anyone who looked into his eyes. Deep within those dark pupils burned a gentle light, like a torch ignited at the bottom of an abyss.
Clack! His fingers struck the keys, and the performance began. From the moment his hands pressed down, the melody declared its heartbreaking nature. The piece was composed almost entirely on the black keys, weaving a dense, mournful tapestry of sound.
Hum... A haunting vibrato resonated, the sound of raw, trembling solitude. It was the theme of a soul with nowhere to rest, forcing the melody of the piano to wander through the cold air. Da-da... da-da...
Yu Ye's hand speed picked up momentum. His rough fingers were far from slender or delicate; long years of heavy manual labor, loading and unloading cargo, had twisted and scarred his knuckles. The harsh winter air had chapped his skin, leaving deep, bleeding fissures across his hands. Yet those damaged hands flew across the keyboard with breathtaking agility.
The sorrow of the piece was palpable, devastatingly real. The surrounding crowd fell silent. The woman who had scolded him stood frozen, an inexplicable sadness washing over her. As this down-and-out man poured his soul into the instrument, a profound grief touched everyone nearby.
Yet no one was more shaken than Park Lengyue himself. In the replay, the young maestro arrived precisely on time, disguised in a heavy coat, a mask, and a low-slung hat. When he stepped toward the station entrance and halted before the broken piano, he was paralyzed.
As the music engulfed him, a vivid image formed in his mind: On a freezing, lonely night, a man strikes a single match to light a candle. The tiny flame struggles against the cold, melting the bitter darkness. But even when the night dissipates, the traveler remains, a lonely, dignified soul pressing forward into the infinite vastness. Steadfast. Heartbroken. Moving forward.
"This..." In the replay, Park Lengyue's eyes widened behind his mask. Drawn by the sheer emotional resonance of the piano, a desperate desire surged within him; he wanted to know this man, to sit with him, to hear his story, and to learn how one could truly integrate such overwhelming empathy into music.
Back on the stage of the live broadcast, the real-world Park Lengyue let out a long, heavy sigh, his voice barely a whisper. "That is what I have been pursuing my entire life... That right there is what I've spent a lifetime chasing..."
He repeated it twice, the exact sentiment he had felt twelve years ago. He had spent his career searching for the secret to pouring true story, true grief, and true life into the ivory keys. In Yu Ye's hands, the song was no longer mere music; it was a breathtaking scroll unfolding before the eyes of the world.
To listen was to be pulled into a living painting. In a lake smooth as a mirror, the sun, moon, and stars reflected in turn; constellations shifted, solitary figures walked through harsh winter winds, gentle arms reached out in comfort, and unyielding struggle warred against heartbreak. In the faint morning light and crisp alpine breeze, a lonely figure stood on a dark mountain peak, gazing up at the sea of stars and staring into the silent cosmos. Such profound, beautiful sadness.
"That was you!" Lengyue's voice trembled with emotion. "This is the mastery I have pursued all my life!"
He loved the piano. He was obsessed with it. That was why, during every international tour, he would disguise himself, wander into subway stations and street corners, play among street performers, and talk to homeless travelers just to hear their stories. He wanted to capture the essence of humanity in his music.
Yet he had never succeeded in this lifetime. It was not a matter of technical difficulty; it required surrendering one's very soul to the keys.
"When you broke my record, I never felt defeated, because we were still just playing a composition," Park Lengyue said softly, turning toward Yu Shuying. "But twelve years ago, your father truly defeated me. From his soul to his piano work, he showed me what a real defeat feels like."
He paused, his eyes warm and full of respect. "So... do you still think you beat him?"
Yu Shuying stood frozen for a long time, her mind blank, before opening her mouth: "Did he... did he really beat you with that broken piano?"
She couldn't bring herself to believe it. She was stunned by her father's performance, but she assumed it was merely a temporary surge of emotional brilliance, a brief spark on a cheap instrument.
Park Lengyue looked at her with admiration. "You are still so proud and sharp, but how could I be defeated by a simple technical clip? You assumed your father played the piano just to beg me for a favor, knowing that four-hand performances were already a default privilege reserved for wealthy kids."
He straightened his posture, his expression grave. "Your father truly defeated me. That was the only reason I agreed to his request..."
He spoke at length, and after a heavy silence, turned his eyes back to the replay.
On the main stage of the studio, the commentator and the guest contestants from elite artistic families sat entirely speechless. Only Park Lengyue's voice echoed through the room. "Your father didn't win my pity! He earned a defeat in an absolute, equal duel! This is victory. This is the chance he bought for you to stand upright with dignity!"
The female commentator, Nana, sat paralyzed, a bitter smile touching her lips. "How... how could it be a dignified defeat..."
Before she could finish her thought, the broadcast audio surged again. The melody from the replay reached its emotional crescendo.
At the back of the regional gymnasium, Zhang Ziju stared at the screen with wide, bloodshot eyes. Through the music, he heard the quiet truth: the man's life was drawing to a close. Yet even at the edge of the abyss, the song overflowed with hope, tender love, and a hymn to existence itself. Despite his isolation, Yu Ye had smiled, looking back at a path of no return.
Zhang Ziju looked down at the old man sleeping restlessly beside him. Exhausted and frail, the old man's breathing was growing lighter by the second.
"Don't sleep yet... wake up, I have so much to tell you..." Zhang Ziju wept openly. "I've only just learned who you really are, but you're already slipping into eternity..."
In that moment, millions of viewers witnessed the true weight of grief.
A man suffering from Alzheimer's so severe that he had to constantly check sticky notes and scribble reminders on his forearm just to remember his own life had executed a masterclass of absolute calculation years ago. He hadn't done it for fame or glory. He had calculated the time, waited for Park Lengyue, and forged an opportunity for an [Equal Dialogue], all to win a fair starting line for his daughter.
An equal dialogue! That was the entire point! He refused to let the world or Park Lengyue look down on his daughter with pity. He wanted her to stand tall as an equal artist. Every note, every second at that train station had been deliberately crafted for this moment.
Around the battered piano at the railway station entrance, a dense crowd had gathered. Rushed travelers, weighed down by the exhaustion of daily life, felt their eyes light up as the music washed over them. Though the tune was heartbreakingly sad, a gentle, comforting smile touched their lips.
Park Lengyue had never encountered anyone like this. He couldn't help but wonder: Who is this man? How can his emotional resonance be so immense?
6:10 PM.
Clack! In Park Lengyue's eyes, the man's performance reached its fiery peak. Through the music, he glimpsed the entirety of a man's life, devastating trials, bitter losses, absolute isolation, unearned sin, and widespread misunderstanding. Those wounds had carved deep scars into his very soul.
Yet none of that mattered anymore. What blazed through the music was an unfettered, incandescent vitality, a warm moment carved out of a tragic existence. Even if brief, it left an indelible mark upon the world.
Outside the station, heavy trucks screeched, and horns blared, their chaotic noise blending with the piano to push the performance to an agonizing perfection.
Then, the final note faded. Yu Ye checked his cheap watch. 6:15 PM. He turned around and spotted the masked maestro standing in the crowd. A gentle, faint smile appeared on Yu Ye's face and thunderous applause erupted across the station hall.
Yu Ye stepped away from the piano, walking until he stood just a meter from Park Lengyue.
"Your piano playing is extraordinary, very good," Park Lengyue said, offering praise from the bottom of his heart, even while wondering why this stranger had approached him.
"Could you do me a favor?" Yu Ye asked calmly, his gaze steady.
"What kind of favor?"
"At your piano recital the day after tomorrow, during the final segment where you select an audience member for the four-hand performance... choose Seat 0452 to perform on stage." Yu Ye looked him in the eye.
Park Lengyue was taken aback, then let out a light laugh. "I can do that. But after the musical is over, you have to fight me once in a duel. I love competing against folk geniuses."
Yu Ye was silent for a second, then nodded. "It's a deal."
Under the fading glow of the sunset, Yu Ye turned and began his walk home. By the time he reached his small apartment, the cold night had settled over the city.
In the living room, he wrote a careful note on the table: [Go to the Grand Theater in two days. Officially enter at 6:30 PM in the afternoon. Enter the venue early, etc.]
And inside the quiet bedroom, Little Shuying lay asleep, dreaming her sweet dreams of becoming a piano artist...