210-212

Chapter 210: The Clear Ring of the Corner Note 

As the saying goes, “The sound of the clear corner note is not easily played, just like the blooming of the udumbara flower is not something that happens lightly.” Clearly, the teenagers from earlier hadn’t gotten the chance to see this udumbara flower at its most beautiful and genuine. Her faintly upturned lips and sparkling eyes seemed to sweep away the heaviness and laziness of the night in an instant. 

“Sorry,” she said, “for interrupting your moment of heroism.” 

Ronan looked a little embarrassed. He wasn’t used to having his intentions exposed so directly, and his cheeks flushed with heat. But unlike before, the girl no longer gave off a sharp, combative vibe. His embarrassment only lasted a moment before he recovered. 

“So... you're calling yourself the beauty in distress?” Ronan found the perfect angle to strike back. 

The girl instantly realized the loophole in her words. “Aren’t I, though?” hovered at the tip of her tongue, but that kind of retort didn’t suit her personality. A faint blush spread across her cheeks as she avoided Ronan’s gaze. Her chin dipped slightly, brushing along her collarbone in a subtle attempt to hide her fluster. 

“Clearly, we both have some issues with self-perception,” she muttered with a teasing tone. 

Ronan chuckled lowly in his throat. “Obviously, we’re not some Disney prince and princess. Maybe we’ve been watching too many Hollywood movies.” 

His quip brought a genuine smile to her face. The strong lines of her brows softened, and she burst out laughing—totally unladylike, but utterly charming. Her laughter was contagious, and Ronan found himself laughing with her. 

Their smiles lingered, spreading from their mouths to their eyes. But as Ronan’s gaze dropped, he noticed her soaking wet dress and immediately sobered up. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, concern evident in his voice. “That doesn’t look easy to move around in. Should we ask Bruno if there’s a room where you can dry off a little?” 

She glanced down at her soggy dress and lifted the hem with one hand, flipping it back and forth like she was inspecting a piece of dried fish. Pouting slightly, she muttered, “It is what it is. I told him this dress wasn’t party-appropriate, but he just kept saying it was fine.” 

Her words came out of nowhere, leaving Ronan a little confused. 

She noticed his puzzled look and, after a pause, lifted her head to explain, “This is the evening gown I wore for tonight’s performance at Carnegie Hall. After the show, my agent insisted I come to this party. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but he wouldn’t drop it. So, like an idiot, I stumbled in here—like a peacock fanning its tail, just standing there for everyone to gawk at.” 

Carnegie Hall. Violin. Evening gown. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. 

In simple terms, Carnegie Hall is one of the world’s most prestigious stages for classical music—a sacred ground, really. From the New York Philharmonic to the London Symphony Orchestra, classical musicians from around the globe dream of performing there. 

Carnegie Hall has become a symbolic destination, a dreamlike shrine for classical music lovers and performers alike. Even audience members view attending a concert there as a once-in-a-lifetime experience. 

“How do you get to Carnegie Hall?” That question has become a running joke in music circles, often answered with: “Practice, practice, and more practice.” For classical musicians, it’s the ultimate goal. 

It's also worth noting: whether you're performing or just attending, formal attire is absolutely mandatory. Suits, ties, dress shoes, gowns, and heels—anything less, and you might not even be allowed in, even with a ticket. 

No wonder she showed up at Bruno’s party in such a glamorous gown. 

And more importantly, violin and performance—those aren’t just throwaway details. Anyone who performs at Carnegie Hall isn’t some random amateur. Even students from Juilliard can’t take the stage there unless they’re top-tier. 

Ronan looked again at the girl’s face, so close in age to his own, and smiled. “You do know that it’s the male peacocks who spread their tails, right?” 

The girl widened her eyes at him, blinking slowly, then gradually lowered her gaze. Her white teeth bit gently into her lower lip. She didn’t answer, but her bashful expression betrayed her. Gone was the fierce debater from earlier—this was someone completely flustered. 

Ronan cleared his throat. “Who knows? Maybe on the seventh planet the Little Prince visits, he’ll see a female peacock in full display—just like that rose of his, a one-of-a-kind presence in the universe.” 

His voice was clear and warm, smooth like the sound of a cello in the stillness of night. 

The girl looked up at him with curiosity, her eyes open and honest in their probing. It made Ronan a little self-conscious, and he quickly shifted the subject. “Parties were never really about the outfits. Even masquerade balls don’t work like that.” 

The girl tilted her chin slightly. “Then what are parties about?” 

Bathed in her frank and unfiltered gaze, Ronan instinctively looked away, only to catch himself and glance back again. She was already smiling teasingly, and he smiled right back. 

“Music and atmosphere,” he said. “That’s what parties are really about.” 

“Oh? I was hoping for a more original answer.” Her voice was slow and lazy, clearly poking fun at him. Obviously, what she really meant was that parties are about the people—the ones you meet, the moments that happen. That’s what makes them unforgettable. 

But this time, she didn’t stop there. She added, “What were you looking at just now?” 

“Huh?” Ronan was caught off guard. Her change of subject was so sudden that it took him a second to catch up. “You mean the sky?” 

She followed his gaze upward. “You can’t see anything in the New York sky. The city lights have completely drowned out the natural world.” 

“If you wanted to see Cassiopeia,” she added, “you’ve probably missed your chance. Best viewing time is around eleven. But of course, at eleven, the city’s still glowing like daylight. And it’s autumn—there aren’t many bright stars visible this season. It’s a tough challenge.” 

Ronan looked up as well. The sky was a hazy gray, with only a few faint stars barely visible—quickly swallowed up by the city’s overwhelming lights. It didn’t feel like the real sky at all… 

It felt like an island, cut off from the rest of nature. 

Chapter 211: The Blooming of the Udumbara Flower 

Humans often believe that cities are the heart of noise and civilization. When people gather and build societies, they feel grounded. And once they stray from that, stepping into the wilderness, they believe they've regressed to something primitive, like being cast out. 

But if you flip that perspective, the view changes. From a cosmic vantage point, the cities scattered sparsely across the vast land and oceans of Earth are actually the isolated ones—tiny islands engulfed by nature. They huddle together, small and lonely, trying to stay warm, barely able to breathe. 

There are countless ways to look at things. Facts matter, of course—but absolute truths are far rarer than we imagine. 

“Maybe you could go to New Jersey and see for yourself.” 

The girl slowly stood up, her soaked skirt trailing behind her as she stepped to the balcony. She tilted her head up, carefully studying the sky above. 

“New Yorkers might turn up their noses at New Jersey, thinking it’s too rural—but if you want to stargaze, we need to return to nature.” 

Her suggestion made Ronan chuckle and shake his head. “No, I don’t know anything about stargazing. Cassiopeia, Polaris, observing hours—I know none of that. Sorry, it’s just not my field. I just wanted to… see the stars.” 

Then he looked down at the girl and gave a faint smile. “Honestly, I think I might not be that bright. Maybe it’s a guy thing?” 

“Haha.” The girl let out a delighted laugh. “People these days are so busy with life, always looking down at the ground beneath their feet. They forget to look up at the sky. Eventually, they lose their sense of place and direction. So compared to them, you’re already pretty smart.” 

“Uh… Is that a compliment? Why does it not sound like one at all?” Ronan protested playfully. His reaction made the girl laugh even more, her eyes sparkling as she replied, “Of course it’s a compliment! There’s a huge difference between a paramecium and a primate. It might sound insulting, but I meant it in a good way.” 

Ronan spread his arms and shook his head in mock confusion. 

The girl noticed the smile tugging at her own lips and, trying not to lose composure, quickly changed the subject. “So, you know how far apart two stars usually are, right?” 

“Not really… one light-year?” Ronan’s gaze returned to the sky, searching for Polaris among the endless night. 

The girl held up her right hand, forming a small distance between her thumb and index finger. “Yeah, about one light-year. Maybe more. To our eyes, they look so close—like one stumble and they’d crash into each other. But it’s just a single light-year.” 

“But that’s still a light-year,” she continued, her voice touched by moonlight—cool, gentle, and distant. “It looks so near, but it’s impossibly far. That kind of distance is beyond anything we can truly imagine.” 

Ronan mirrored her gesture, spacing out two stars with his fingers and contemplating how vast a light-year really is—how it spans across ages and galaxies. 

“Standing before the universe, we’re so tiny. Like dust. Our entire lives would be barely a speck in the river of time that flows through one light-year.” 

That’s why people, overwhelmed by the grind of everyday life, need to lift their heads once in a while and look up at the stars. To feel small again. Maybe then, life would feel just a little simpler. 

“Mm-mm-mm… mm-mm-mm…” 

A tune drifted through Ronan’s mind—like a violin softly playing a haunting melody. It flowed, rich and powerful, full of sadness and grandeur. The bow danced across the strings, weaving a story of beauty and sorrow that glimmered under the starry sky. 

“Take me soaring, across this chasm… Fly the heavens, don’t let go… Calling heroes, heal the aching… When I become… my own worst foe…” 

Drip. Drip. 

The lyrics danced through the music, echoing in the vast, lonely expanse of the cosmos. But more terrifying than loneliness was the fear of one’s own growing inner demons. The struggle to not fall into darkness cried out in desperation—hoping, even across a light-year, for salvation. 

Just like his past self. Just like Ollie in this life. In the end, they both found redemption—not through someone else, but through music. Clinging tightly to the notes, refusing to let darkness consume the last spark of their souls. Some things, after all, can never be devoured by the dark. 

“Mm-mm-mm… mm-mm-mm…” 

A soft humming joined his own. Ronan paused and turned to see the girl gently swaying her head, humming along with the tune he’d unconsciously begun. Her lips curled into a light smile, and the coldness in her gaze seemed to melt away. 

Ronan hadn’t sung loudly—it had been more like a lullaby, something that slipped out naturally. But the girl had picked up on it instantly, and now she joined him, even adding two seamless eight-beat phrases to the melody, making it feel whole and complete. 

Ronan hummed a few more bars, and just like that, the inspiration clicked. That tune he and Ollie had worked on during their flight, the one they never quite finished—tonight, by some twist of fate, it had found its missing piece. Melody and lyrics flowed together as if they’d been waiting for this moment. 

The girl seemed to notice the surprise in Ronan’s eyes. She turned to him. “What, just because I play the violin doesn’t mean I can’t like pop music? I didn’t take you for such a rigid person. Don’t you know classical and pop music are both just different languages for the same emotion?” 

Ronan paused, then smiled again. Wasn’t it usually classical musicians who looked down on pop? Since when had the roles reversed? But he didn’t correct her. He simply shook his head. “No, I believe music is universal. All of it comes from the soul.” 

The girl looked him in the eyes. “You're not just saying that, are you? Because right now, you look exactly like one of those kidnapped victims forced to say something under duress. If you’re being held hostage, blink twice.” 

Blink. Blink. 

Ronan actually blinked twice. The girl stared at him, stunned, and then saw him smile. 

“I meant what I said. And besides—you don’t have to be so suspicious of everything men do. Maybe you could try relaxing a little.” 

“…Sorry.” The girl realized her old defenses were slipping back in. “I didn’t mean to pick a fight. I just don’t know how to…” 

“Talk to a prince?” Ronan finished with a grin. 

Chapter 212: After the Hangover 

“…I just don’t know…” 

“You don’t know how to talk to the prince?” 

Ronan cut the girl off, picking up the thread of the conversation himself. She blinked in surprise, but the smile returned to her face, softening the atmosphere once more. “Well, it seems like you’re quite good at talking to a princess.” 

This time, Ronan didn’t correct her choice of words. Instead, he placed his right hand on his left shoulder, gave a slight bow, and performed a knight’s salute. 

The girl smiled wider. “I know I’m not the easiest person to talk to. Maybe your stomach is burning right now and you just want to walk away, but you’re the only one at the party tonight who was willing to sit down and have a real conversation with me. I…” She paused nervously, “…I really appreciate that.” 

“No, I actually enjoyed our chat too. Definitely more than the conversation by the pool,” Ronan replied with a smile. 

The girl lowered her head slightly, then peeked up at him through her soft curls, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad we’re on the same page. I like you.” 

“….” Ronan froze for a moment. That direct?! Or… did he misunderstand? 

After all, there are cultural differences between East and West. In Western culture, “I like you” or even “I love you” can be thrown around casually, even among friends. 

Maybe she was just expressing her gratitude? 

So… how should he respond? “I like you too”? 

Ronan had to admit, even after a few months, he hadn’t completely adjusted to the cultural vibe around here. He felt like he was overthinking it, but in the heat of the moment, his mind blanked, and the perfect response never made it to his lips. And just like that, the moment passed. 

SPLASH! 

A noisy ruckus broke out again from the direction of the pool — a wave of cheers and wolf-whistles shattered the fragile mood. 

The girl didn’t seem fazed. She glanced over her shoulder toward the pool, then looked back at Ronan and gracefully extended her right hand. “Alena Baeva.” 

Wait, was this… an introduction? 

They’d been talking back and forth for quite some time, and only now were they introducing themselves? That was kind of hilarious. 

Ronan looked into her bright, playful eyes, shining even under the dim night sky. The city lights behind her seemed dull in comparison. “Ronan Cooper,” he replied, reaching out to shake her hand. 

Her hand wasn’t dainty, nor was it rough, but he could feel the calluses on her fingers and palm — the marks of someone who’d worked hard, poured sweat into her craft. 

They shared a brief handshake before letting go. Alena smiled again, glanced down at her wet skirt, and said with a sly grin, “If I don’t want to relive Cinderella’s fate, I should leave now. Otherwise, the magic might wear off.” 

“I thought this wasn’t a Disney story. How did we end up back here?” Ronan quipped, finally regaining his rhythm. 

Alena shook her head lightly. “No, no. Disney and Grimm are two different things. Actually, the original Cinderella comes from an ancient Greek tale about a girl named Rhodopis. A modern 20th-century version loaded with patriarchal baggage can't compare.” 

Ronan smirked. “I’m seriously starting to worry about my IQ now.” 

Alena laughed cheerfully. Her gaze flicked toward him with a hint of mischief, but she didn’t say anything more. She lifted the hem of her skirt, tiptoed away dramatically… but only made it a few steps before circling back. 

There stood Ronan, holding her violin in both hands like a gentleman. 

Alena’s cheeks turned a little pink. In a totally unconvincing tone, she muttered, “This isn’t a glass slipper.” 

The smile in Ronan’s eyes deepened. “No, it’s not.” 

Alena took her violin and, this time, walked away for real. Her hurried, stumbling steps betrayed her flustered state, and her retreating figure made Ronan chuckle with genuine delight. 

He turned his head back toward the sky, scanning the faint starlight above. 

So… where exactly is Cassiopeia? 

The night deepened. And then, the sun broke through the darkness, climbing over the horizon and announcing the start of a brand-new day. 

Ronan bolted upright with a groan. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Last night—no, technically this morning—the party had ended at six. He’d stumbled back into his hotel room, half-blind and dead tired, and crashed face-first into sleep. 

Half-awake and surrounded by a battlefield of passed-out bodies, he managed to spot Oli, Maxime, and Cliff. Teaming up with Oli, they hauled the still-unconscious Maxime back to the hotel and collapsed again into sleep. 

Now, hunger dragged Ronan back from the grave. 

His brain begged for more sleep, but his stomach had started a riot. No way he was going back to bed like this. 

Food mode: activated. 

He wandered through the hotel in a daze, eventually stumbling upon the indoor restaurant. He grabbed a seat by the outdoor pool and started scarfing down food like a man possessed. After inhaling three burgers, he finally felt slightly human again. He slowed down, took a big gulp of orange juice, and started nibbling on bacon and fries. 

That’s when Alice showed up. 

“Is this lunch or dinner?” 

Compared to Ronan’s wrecked appearance, Alice looked positively radiant. After getting proper rest last night, she was glowing under the muted New York afternoon sun. The exhaustion from tour life had vanished — she finally looked like herself again. 

“Depends on how you feel,” Ronan replied, adjusting his sunglasses like a vampire who couldn’t stand daylight. “But yeah, this is definitely my first meal of the day.” 

“Fair enough.” Alice shrugged and stole a fry from his plate. 

Ronan glanced at his food, hesitating for a second before giving up trying to stop her. “Our opening tour's over now. What’s next for you? Heading back to school? Your graduation project must be nearly done.” 

“Yeah. Most of the editing is finished,” Alice nodded. “Honestly, it turned out better than expected. Being on the road brought so many surprises. That constant sense of movement added this dynamic flow to the footage. I really love that texture.” 

She paused, thoughtfully picking her words. “I’ve also been wondering… Now that Bruno’s opening act is over… what if I just keep going with you guys?”