“Lost in thought again? I’m really not that good at sweet-talking people.”
Ji Zhenshi’s defense didn’t stir the slightest ripple in Li Yunli’s heart. Just as Li Yunli opened her mouth to respond, Ji Zhenshi added another line.
“I’m only this smooth when sweet-talking you because I know you inside and out. I’ve only ever done it with Sister A-Yun. Trust me—practice makes perfect.”
Ji Zhenshi knew Li Yunli’s temperament well, so she could always smooth things over with a few gentle words before any real anger took hold.
With a mischievous wink at Li Yunli, Ji Zhenshi stood up and stuffed both the photo and the Polaroid camera into Li Yunli’s hands. She waved cheerfully and scampered off like a puff of smoke.
“Come on, snap lots of pics of me! I’m totally rocking it today!”
Li Yunli’s gaze followed Ji Zhenshi’s retreating figure as she dashed away, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Sweet-talking? More like sweet-talking her way out of trouble.
Ji Zhenshi was so practiced at it, her words always dripping with honey. There was no way she had only ever sweet-talked Li Yunli.
“How could it be just one person? That little rascal’s pulling my leg again. Not the first time, either. No sincerity at all.”
Li Yunli dismissed it as Ji Zhenshi just trying to cheer her up and didn’t dwell on it.
Her eyes swept around the surroundings, finally understanding why Ji Zhenshi had been so insistent on her coming to watch.
Beinan Music Academy was one of the top schools in the country, and its centennial celebration was an unprecedented spectacle. They’d brought in professional equipment and photographers, even television crews standing off to the side. With thousands of spectators, it was a formal stage even for students who hadn’t graduated yet—one that could catch the eye of industry veterans and spare them years of detours.
A shortcut, one that relied on a bit of luck.
No wonder Ji Zhenshi had said it was tough making it from the preliminaries to the main event without getting cut. At a music academy like this, talented performers were a dime a dozen. Standing out in a field of gods was no easy feat.
So Ji Zhenshi was amazing. All those nights of relentless practice wouldn’t go to waste.
Ji Zhenshi was scheduled near the end, so Li Yunli had been seated for nearly twenty minutes when the announcer’s voice rang out. “Next up, from the class of 2020 violin major, Ji Zhenshi, accompanied on piano by Xia Siyuan, performing ‘Croatian Rhapsody.’ Let’s give them a warm round of applause!”
When Ji Zhenshi took the stage, she was still in that same casual outfit from earlier, without a stitch of makeup. Compared to the other performers in their elegant gowns and flawless cosmetics, she seemed utterly relaxed—like she was just practicing in the rehearsal room as usual.
She strolled onstage with her violin dangling casually from one hand, locked eyes with the camera, and gave it a playful wink before flashing a grin.
In an instant, the massive screen beside the stage magnified her smile, sending the audience into a frenzy of cheers.
At her age, Ji Zhenshi embodied youth itself—vibrant and unbound.
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the girl beside her, she waved to the crowd. It was a formal event, but she carried herself with such effortless poise, without a hint of tension.
“Hey, hey, I know Ji Zhenshi! She’s the one from the dorm next door who plays violin left-handed. She’s our senior sister in the program—super pretty too. Every time our majors have an event on the campus wall, someone confesses to her. She’s a big deal: top three in the major since freshman year, national scholarships every time. Total badass.”
“That good?”
“Yeah, don’t let her goofy side fool you—she’s the real deal when it comes to violin. Got a question? Ask her. You have no idea how hard she works. When there’s no class, she holes up in a practice room alone. And she’s got a great personality too. Sometimes we’d bump into her, wave hello, and say we envied her skills. We’d ask how she did it. Guess what she said?”
“What?”
“She cracked us up—flipped her hair, winked, and goes, ‘What, you think I’m a genius?’ Hilarious. Now we all call her Ji Left Genius.”
“Pretty cool nickname. Genius—left-hand genius.”
The two people seated right behind Li Yunli seemed to know Ji Zhenshi. As soon as her face appeared on the big screen, one whispered to the other.
Ji Zhenshi was a genius? A left-hand genius?
Li Yunli lifted her gaze with a soft smile, fixing it on Ji Zhenshi onstage. In her heart, she thought, So our Xiao Zhen really is a genius.
Confessed to often?
Li Yunli’s eyes stayed glued to Ji Zhenshi. Even on such a grand stage, she showed no stage fright, basking in the crowd’s cheers. The girl’s golden hair swayed in the breeze as she turned slightly, her slender arms stretching out as if embracing the world.
People like her were born with magnetic charm. It was only natural that others would be drawn to her.
“I’m born for the stage. The violin is my weapon against the world.”
That was what Ji Zhenshi had once scribbled secretly on the first page of her diary, back when everyone opposed her passion—a quiet vow to defend her love for the violin.
The bow glided slowly across the strings, the violin and piano weaving together in perfect harmony. Amid the tragedy lurked hope, mirroring Ji Zhenshi’s own life: shining alongside the dust, forever hopeful, undaunted by the cold, passionately free.
“Love me. I’m cool.”
Li Yunli’s eyes shimmered as that line from Ji Zhenshi sprang unbidden to mind.
She couldn’t recall when or why Ji Zhenshi had said it, only the image of her leaning coolly against the railing outside the coffee shop, waving at Li Yunli with a grin.
For some reason, that scene and those words had stuck with her.
Li Yunli’s face still wore that gentle smile as she watched Ji Zhenshi on stage.
Something in her own heart stirred in response, her pupils reflecting the girl’s unbound spirit. The spotlight lingered on her alone, radiant and breathtaking.
Li Yunli lowered her eyes and penned on the back of the Polaroid photo: “Xiao Zhen is so free. I’ll always envy people like that. Gazes can’t help but linger on them.”
“Xiao Zhen, soar even higher. See more free vistas.”
She carefully tucked the photo into the pocket of her notebook, her gaze lingering onstage long after.
No one to confide in, so she wrote it down for herself.
Ji Zhenshi’s journey to this point with the violin hadn’t been easy. Her family had never supported it from the start, pushing her toward a practical major with good job prospects—straight to work after graduation.
But she clung to her dream. Whether choosing her major or auditioning for arts entrance exams, Ji Zhenshi ignored her mother Yang Ying’s wishes. In the end, she earned a spot at the Music Academy with stellar scores.
She had undeniable talent for the violin, but what got her here was persistence: endless repetitions until every piece became muscle memory.
There was a stubborn tenacity in her, a refusal to yield. She seemed so carefree, but as a lefty achieving this level, her path had been bumpier and harder than most.
So keep going, Ji Zhenshi. You’re cool, and plenty of people will love you for it.
As the piece ended, Li Yunli watched Ji Zhenshi hug the pianist, bow to the audience, and step back amid thunderous applause and cheers.
Ji Zhenshi clearly had great popularity; even before she reached the floor, friends were waiting, and she plunged into their midst.
Today, she’d outperformed herself—top-notch technically and in stage presence.
“You guys wait here. I’ll be right back.” Ji Zhenshi told her friends, carefully stowing her violin before heading off.
“How was I?” After a quick celebration with her friends, Ji Zhenshi couldn’t wait any longer and bolted toward Li Yunli.
To avoid blocking anyone’s view, she circled around from behind before squatting in front of Li Yunli, eager for her verdict.
Li Yunli instinctively reached out to steady her, frowning slightly in disapproval. Only once Ji Zhenshi was stable did she sign, “Be careful. Don’t be so reckless—what if you fall? Take it slow, got it?”
Especially that jump from stage to the crowd earlier—Li Yunli had watched from afar, heart in her throat, terrified Ji Zhenshi might get hurt.
“I’m fine! I’ve improved, right? I didn’t let you down?” Ji Zhenshi brushed off the scolding look, grinning as she asked again.
It was as if all her grueling practice would mean something special with Li Yunli’s approval—she was desperate for it.
“I’m no expert, so I can’t tell if you’ve improved.” Li Yunli wouldn’t pretend to know more than she did or feed her empty flattery. But she’d always stand firmly in Ji Zhenshi’s corner and affirm her without question.
As Ji Zhenshi’s eyelids drooped in disappointment, Li Yunli added, “But Xiao Zhen’s always been amazing, and today’s performance was fantastic. With or without progress, it was meaningful—worth cherishing.”
She placed the Polaroid in Ji Zhenshi’s palm: a snapshot of her mid-performance, alone in the stage lights.
Ji Zhenshi wouldn’t slack on her violin passion without Li Yunli’s praise, but it sure made her happy.
Seeing Li Yunli’s thumbs-up, she flashed a victory sign, too thrilled to even glance at the photo. “I’m so happy, Sister A-Yun.”
Because you’re in the audience. It’s not just for them— I don’t want to disappoint you. So I give it everything.
“Not calling me Sister A-Yun anymore?” Li Yunli looked at her amused.
Ji Zhenshi’s pet names shifted with her moods.
“Suddenly feels kinda childish. I’m a mature adult now.” Ji Zhenshi put her hands on her hips, feigning seriousness.
She’d never admit it was because her friends had teased her earlier.
Ji-senior, still such a kid? Calling her Sister A-Yun every other word, like a little brat.
“Senior Sister Ji, so immature. Does even a genius get this giddy over praise from her sister-in-law, like a three-year-old?” Just then, the friends who’d been chatting about her earlier chimed in teasingly after enjoying the show.
It wasn’t that they meant to poke fun, but seeing her squat by seated Li Yunli’s knees like a kid begging for praise was too funny—worlds away from the confident, sunny girl onstage.
Not even ten minutes had passed, yet her mental age plummeted in Li Yunli’s presence. The contrast was striking.
Ji Zhenshi and Li Yunli turned together toward the voice. Ji Zhenshi lifted her chin proudly. “None of your business. I like it. Geniuses are human too.”
“Yes, yes, Ji Left Genius is still a little kid who needs to act cute. But damn, your stage performance was killer. I even recorded it—gonna savor that later.”
Ji Zhenshi shot her friend a sideways glare. “Don’t call me genius, and no clipping memes from the video!”
She knew them too well.
“Fine, genius is shy.”
The other friend asked, “Senior Sister Ji, can I post the video to Moments?”
“Sure, post away. Our Senior Sister Ji’s super generous,” the first one replied.
Ji Zhenshi rolled her eyes at the teasing before answering the second girl. “Go for it. I don’t mind.”
Then she dragged over a stool and sat beside Li Yunli, ready to watch the rest of the show together.
Li Yunli listened quietly to their banter, glancing sideways at Ji Zhenshi with a faint smile. “Xiao Zhen, do geniuses act spoiled too?”
She’d committed the origin of the nickname to memory and now used it to tease her right back.
Am I a genius?
So cocky.
Li Yunli could picture it perfectly just from the description: Ji Zhenshi’s arrogant flair and that whole scene. She saw it so often that even hearing about it felt like being there.
Ji Zhenshi flushed with embarrassment and glared back at her teasers. “Argh! Don’t call me that. They were joking, and I was too—total brain fart. I’m no genius; don’t put me on a pedestal like that.”
She denied being a genius but not the spoiling toward Li Yunli.
“Weren’t you super confident before?” Li Yunli hooked Ji Zhenshi’s nose playfully.
Ji Zhenshi slumped bonelessly against Li Yunli’s shoulder, whining petulantly. “Confidence and arrogance are different, okay? I’m not a genius!”
“You can’t deny your talent completely, can you? Why the pedestal talk? Facts are facts. Ever heard of Fang Zhongyong? Talent matters, sure, but you’ve come this far without backsliding. You’re a natural violinist.”
Li Yunli encouraged her as always.
She believed Ji Zhenshi would go far on this path, reaching the heights she dreamed of.
Ji Zhenshi melted against her shoulder, humming contentedly. “Sister A-Yun always says the nicest things. Way better than just calling me a genius flat-out. Nice—I like it.”
She didn’t care about genius labels; what mattered was Li Yunli’s validation. All those sweltering practices, endless exam prep—it all felt respected in this moment.
Li Yunli smiled, thoroughly charmed.
The little rascal had such a sweet tongue—irresistibly likable.
With a soft chuckle, her gaze slipped past Ji Zhenshi as she signed toward a group in the distance. “Aren’t they waiting for you?”
A cluster of people nearby kept glancing their way—more precisely, at Ji Zhenshi—whispering excitedly. Li Yunli could sense their cheer even without hearing.
Ji Zhenshi followed her pointing finger, spotting the familiar faces. She pulled out her phone, about to tell them to quit staring with those shady grins.
What, like we’re monkeys at the zoo?
Eyes off the stage and on them, gossiping like it was a show?
“Nah, don’t know those idiots.” Ji Zhenshi cleared her throat, hand shielding her face as she stealthily typed on her phone.
Her close friends had a group chat, and it was blowing up. Instead of watching the performances, they were huddled up mocking how she couldn’t leave her sister-in-law’s side, glued to Li Yunli everywhere.
—Not watching the show? Staring at me for? Am I a monkey?
Ji Zhenshi fired back irritably, then shot the giggling idiots a glare. What were they even laughing about?
—Who’s staring at you? I’m staring at your sister-in-law.
—Your folks didn’t show, but sister-in-law did. So dutiful!
—Dinner after to celebrate? Invite Yunli Sis?
—Yeah! No age gap, and she’s so sweet—bet she’ll fit right in. More the merrier.
Ji Zhenshi glanced at Li Yunli, who was focused on the stage, and pondered briefly.
—Lemme ask her.
She hooked her pinky around Li Yunli’s overlapping hands on her lap. “Sister A-Yun, wanna grab dinner together tonight? I’m celebrating the smooth performance with friends after.”
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