Chapter 56: Coincidence

Cheng Feng was so excited that he kept rubbing his hands together. “Could this be a kind of programming language?”
The man’s expression remained inscrutable, profound and unreadable. After a while, he curled his lips and replied, “Not necessarily.”
Cheng Feng took the phone, marveling over it as if he’d received a treasure. “A true expert is something else. I can’t make heads or tails of this. Ninth Master, should I have our tech department try to crack it?”
“As you wish.” Rong Shen braced his hands on his knees, stood up, and, appearing rather uninterested, turned and went upstairs.
…
A day passed, and Yi Ke’s solo concert arrived as scheduled.
For such a formal occasion, she couldn’t dress too plainly. An Tong went back to Yunhai Road and picked out a fitted, cream-colored satin gown and a pair of leather boots. Over that, she wore a tailored black trench coat. Not ostentatious but certainly not out of place—a proper, understated ensemble.
At 6:30 in the evening, the Fragrant River Concert Hall.
The massive LED screens looped advertisements for Yi Ke’s concert. Vivid spotlights flashed in alternating patterns overhead, and the distinctive retro architecture complemented the classical sculptures outside the entrance.
Soon, a “low-key” Volkswagen drove into the underground parking lot.
At the backstage entrance, Yi Ke’s assistant was waiting, craning his neck. When he saw An Tong approaching alone, he asked tentatively, “Excuse me, are you Miss An Tong?”
“Hello, yes, I am.”
Shen Cong’s face lit up with a smile; he quickly stepped aside and extended a courteous hand. “Right this way, please. Young Master Ke is waiting for you inside.”
An Tong thanked him and followed Shen Cong down the staff corridor, soon arriving at the backstage lounge.
The door opened, and Yi Ke was in the midst of his pre-performance hand care. Upon seeing her, he greeted her with a smile. “Little An Tong, come in.”
An Tong entered with measured steps, greeting him softly, “Senior Yi.”
“Haven’t had dinner yet, have you? There’s some mango pancakes on the table. Have a bite—I’ll be done soon.”
Yi Ke’s easygoing manner surprised the manicurist, who kept sneaking glances at An Tong, curious about their relationship.
As the newly acclaimed piano prince, Yi Ke was notorious for his difficult temperament.
It wasn’t arrogance per se, but a certain proud aloofness that came with talent.
As his exclusive hand care specialist, she had rarely seen him display such an approachable side.
An Tong didn’t miss the manicurist’s scrutiny; she nodded slightly in acknowledgment and asked Yi Ke in a gentle tone, “When does the concert start?”
“Seven-thirty. There’s plenty of time.”
An Tong sat down to the side but didn’t touch the mango pancakes.

After about seven or eight minutes, the hand treatment was finished.
Yi Ke dismissed the manicurist and, rubbing the back of his hand, walked over to An Tong. “Are you sure you won’t consider playing a duet with me on stage?”
An Tong looked up at him without a word—her answer was clear enough.
Yi Ke shrugged and nudged the mango pancakes toward her. “I remember you used to love these.”
“I’m not hungry.” As she spoke, her gaze briefly passed over the Steinway grand piano across from her. “Isn’t it almost time to head in?”
Yi Ke glanced at the time, a bit disappointed. “I was hoping we could play a piece together backstage, but it seems there’s no chance tonight.”
With that, An Tong stood up and smiled softly. “Next time, perhaps.”
“I suppose so.” Yi Ke pulled a pair of concert tickets from his trouser pocket as he spoke. “VIP seats don’t require queuing. I’ll have Shen Cong take you straight in. Don’t rush off after the concert—there’s a small celebration afterward. Join us.”
Before An Tong could refuse, he’d already opened the door and called for Shen Cong to escort her to her seat.

…
At 7:15, An Tong appeared in VIP Seat No. 01 in the center of the concert hall—the best spot in the house for both sound and view.
As the audience trickled in, the second-floor gallery quickly filled to capacity.
Most of the first floor was reserved for VIPs, so guests arrived more sporadically. The seats to An Tong’s left and right remained empty.
At 7:25, a delicate fragrance drifted from the seat beside her.
An Tong turned instinctively, just as the newcomer greeted her. “Miss An, what a coincidence.”
“Hello, Miss Wen.”
It was indeed quite the coincidence—the person to her right was none other than the city’s premier socialite, Wen Wan.
They had met a few times, even exchanged WeChat contacts, but shared no real friendship.
Wen Wan removed her coat, revealing an elegant, form-fitting evening dress. She swept all her hair over her left shoulder—every movement exuding the grace and poise of a true lady.
Compared to Wen Wan’s refinement, An Tong, still in her coat, seemed much more casual.
Behind them, some audience members whispered,
“Who’s that girl in VIP Seat One?”
“No idea—she looks unfamiliar.”
“Maybe she’s some heiress who rarely shows up. Even Wen Wan took the initiative to greet her; they must know each other.”
Just then, Wen Wan leaned over to An Tong, “Where did you put your purse? Would you like my assistant to hold it for you?”

“No, thank you. I didn’t bring one,” An Tong replied politely.
She lived simply, not one for the trappings of a socialite, and hadn’t developed the habit of carrying a purse when going out.
Noticing this, Wen Wan handed her coat and purse to Yang Sui in the row behind and muttered under her breath, “How nice… I wish I didn’t have to bring all this next time either…”
For years, to maintain her image as the perfect debutante, she’d always made sure to carry every symbol of her status, ever wary of being criticized.
Looking at the unburdened An Tong beside her, Wen Wan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy.
Their conversation ended with An Tong’s silence.
She wasn’t sure how to respond to Wen Wan, nor could she decipher the meaning behind the other woman’s conflicted expression.
At 7:29, the guest to An Tong’s left finally arrived—a man, it seemed.
By then, the lights in the hall had dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. As the curtain rose, Yi Ke appeared under the spotlight in his black tuxedo, greeted by thunderous applause.
An Tong joined in, clapping, but her peripheral vision caught the man to her left. His applauding arm looked oddly familiar.
A sliver of white shirt showed beneath his black sleeve, his fingers were long and well-shaped—the more she looked, the more she felt she’d seen him before.
The stage lights illuminated the man’s posture—casual yet elegant, even his polished black shoes seemed like a déjà vu.
An Tong’s gaze slowly rose, and she found herself staring at a strikingly handsome, sharply defined face.
“Dr. Rong?!”
She gasped softly in surprise and, as if by instinct, lowered her crossed legs and sat up properly.
Rong Shen caught her discreet movement and smiled, his eyes amused. “It’s me.”
An Tong placed her hands on her knees, adopting the perfect model student’s posture.
A concert was a solemn, serious affair. She lowered her voice, almost whispering, “Why are you here?”
She hadn’t expected Dr. Rong to be a fan of piano recitals.
No wonder he possessed such refined grace—perhaps he, too, had been shaped by the arts.
In the dim light, the man met An Tong’s eyes, arching his brow slightly. His low, mellow voice teased, “Am I not allowed to come?”
“That’s not what I meant.” An Tong, mindful of the setting, dared not speak loudly. She leaned toward him, unconsciously closing the distance. “It’s just… I’m surprised. And we ended up sitting right next to each other.”
(End of chapter)