At the film studio.

He Han was in the middle of filming, completely unaware of everything that had happened in Austria.

In the scene, He Han played a police officer engaged in a high-stakes chase with a criminal.

Both men carried guns, weaving through a maze of narrow alleys and using the terrain for cover. He Han pulled the trigger—gunfire rang out, and a bullet sliced through the cold air.

As the chase wore on, both sides ran out of ammunition.

Now, the criminal found himself cornered at the end of a narrow alley. The officer was right behind him, leaving no room to escape.

The two faced off, both lunging at each other, trying to wrestle the empty gun from the other’s grip.

The gun hit the hard ground with a dull thud.

A flicker passed through He Han’s eyes. In a sudden move, he struck at the criminal with a swift chop. The man blocked it instinctively and immediately countered.

His face remained expressionless, but every strike landed with precision—clean and efficient.

Blow after blow, the two exchanged attacks, their reflexes sharp, their movements lightning-fast.

Each move was executed with crisp clarity and pinpoint accuracy.

Seconds ticked by.

Until He Han’s hand locked around the criminal’s throat.

“Cut!” the director called out. “Great take.”

“You worked hard, He Han.”

Everyone on set knew the fight scene just now was real—no camera tricks, no faking. That authenticity was what made the action on screen so compelling.

He Han was known for his dedication. He never used a stunt double for action scenes—he insisted on doing them himself.

He once said that stunt performers were actors too, and they love film just as much.

He respected everyone’s passion for cinema.

As usual, after exchanging farewells with the actor who’d shared the scene with him, He Han left the set.

His agent and assistant followed closely, getting into the black car with him.

After several consecutive days of intense action scenes, He Han felt nothing but exhaustion.

Once inside the car, He Han leaned back against the seat and slowly closed his eyes.

His expression was calm and detached, his entire presence exuding a sharp, almost icy intensity.

Meanwhile, over in Austria, the reality show Let’s Travel was livestreaming two of its groups.

The show was trending on Weibo, and He Han’s assistant had been keeping an eye on it.

Sitting beside He Han, the assistant pulled out his phone. Not wanting to disturb him, he put on his headphones and quietly watched Ye Fan’s livestream.

On screen, Ye Fan had just borrowed a violin from a local music shop.

As the assistant watched the crowd’s surprised and admiring reactions, he couldn’t help but look a little stunned himself.

“What is it?” He Han suddenly opened his eyes, casting a glance in his direction.

He had caught the sound from the assistant’s headphones and asked, “What is it?”

The assistant removed his earbuds and explained, “Let’s Travel is filming in Austria. The guests are doing a short livestream segment right now.”

He Han’s gaze shifted to the phone screen. In the middle of the crowd, he noticed a woman wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans. Her cool, composed aura made her stand out immediately.

Her outfit was plain and clean, yet under the sunlight, she looked effortlessly graceful—striking in her quiet beauty.

That woman was none other than Ye Fan.

For some reason, He Han instinctively began watching the livestream.

Ye Fan remained silent. She rested the violin on her shoulder, her neck long and fair, her skin almost translucent under the light.

She stood there quietly, then began to play.

The next moment—

Music poured out, flowing from the taut strings of the violin.

Ye Fan’s expression was focused and intent. Each note she played seemed to land directly on the heart—pure, like a voice from the heavens.

At that moment—

He Han suddenly sat up straight, his eyes fixed on the screen.

He stared intently at Ye Fan’s figure, a slight frown forming between his brows.

She was playing a classical piece. To most people, it might have simply sounded pleasant and melodious.

Many had performed this piece before.

But anyone who truly loved classical music understood—music wasn’t just about sound. It was a vessel for emotion.

And the emotions of the performer—within a single piece—would be laid bare.

Ye Fan’s music was clear and pure, untainted.

The more He Han listened, the stronger the feeling of familiarity grew.

That sound… it was like something from a distant memory.

His lips pressed into a thin line, eyes fixed steadily on Ye Fan.

But the usual indifference in his gaze began to shift—subtly, gradually—into something closer to interest. Like ice melting under the gentle warmth of scattered sunlight.

He looked at her, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

…

On the streets of Austria, beneath the soft, golden sunlight—

Ye Fan stood quietly, holding the violin in her hands, playing with unwavering focus and calm dedication.

Her fingers rested lightly on the instrument—slender, graceful—bathed in a gentle, pearly glow.

With her head slightly tilted, she closed her eyes.

In that moment, as Ye Fan played, she forgot she was standing on a street in Austria. It was as if she had been transported—back to another world she once knew.

To compose a single piece, Ye Fan had revised and discarded her work countless times. In her once-detached heart, music had meant everything.

Since arriving in this world, it was the first time she had come this close to music—and the first time she had truly enjoyed it.

With her mind completely at ease, Ye Fan played the violin—not for the show, not for anyone else, but simply for herself.

The graceful notes drifted down the wide street, painting the City of Music in new, vivid colors.

The melody rose slowly, gently, wrapping around everyone and everything, pulling them into its quiet magic.

Though it was clearly daytime, it felt as though night had fallen—a serene, dreamlike night. One by one, people sank deeper and deeper into the illusion.

Moments later, the sound of footsteps echoed through the street as curious passersby followed the music. Who was it, they wondered, who could play something so exquisitely beautiful?

And when their eyes finally landed on Ye Fan, they paused—stilled by the sight before them.

They had come drawn by the enchanting sound of the violin, but they hadn’t expected to be captivated by the sight of the young woman before them.

The girl wore a simple white T-shirt and jeans—nothing fancy, just casual and elegant. Yet, her beauty was striking, impossible to ignore.

Her appearance was perfectly balanced—neither too bold nor too plain, just the right amount of charm. Every feature was in harmony, every detail flawless.

Her aura was so unique that it seemed impossible to tear one’s gaze away. It was a pleasure not just for the ears, but for the eyes as well.

As the crowd grew larger, the once quiet street quickly became bustling with people.

Among them were Chinese students and foreign visitors, some who had just come from Tang Jin’s place, others who were seeing Ye Fan for the first time.

All of them paused, drawn in by the music and unable to resist watching the young woman before them.

As the final note faded, Ye Fan lowered her hand and set down the violin.

Though the music had ceased, its lingering aura still seemed to hang in the air. Silence enveloped the crowd—no one dared speak, as if afraid to shatter the beauty of that moment.

Everyone was entranced, yet a sense of wistful longing crept in. Such a breathtaking performance had come to an end, almost too soon.

Ye Fan opened her eyes, momentarily startled. She hadn’t even noticed the crowd that had gathered around her while she played with such focus and devotion.

A soft smile tugged at her lips. She bowed gracefully.

For a few seconds, silence held. Then suddenly, someone began to clap.

A moment later, more applause followed—soft at first, then growing louder and fuller, until the whole street echoed with it.

The applause rolled on in waves, a tribute to the performer, and a recognition of Ye Fan’s extraordinary talent.

And Ye Fan—she truly deserved every bit of that praise.

People looked at her with smiles on their faces, admiration shining in their eyes.

It wasn’t just the crowd on the streets of Austria that was captivated—the viewers in the livestream chat had gone wild. The comment feed exploded instantly.

Message after message flew across the screen in a blur:

“Ye Fan’s beauty and talent are actually real? I’m officially a die-hard fan now, ahhh!”

“Oh my god, I don’t even know how to describe her playing—I thought it was some world-class maestro up there.”

“Who was it that said Ye Fan only knew one song? Show yourself! Did you hear that performance? One song? What a joke!”

“I’ve been a casual fan of Ye Fan, but I kept quiet earlier—I wanted the haters to see for themselves what it means to speak with skill. And finally, here it is. That slap in the face was quick and clean.”

The livestream chat was flooded with rapid-fire comments, but among the praise, a few discordant voices emerged.

“Sure, Ye Fan plays well, but there’s no way that many people just happened to be there watching. Are those people… paid plants?”

“I was thinking the same. Something fishy’s going on—maybe some behind-the-scenes trickery.”

The moment those comments appeared, Ye Fan’s fans jumped to her defense with full force.

“Open your eyes! Several people in that crowd came over from Tang Jin’s performance. You really think that’s ‘staged’? Please. You must be a Tang Jin fan fishing for attention.”

“You think Ye Fan’s fans are pushovers? Why don’t you talk about Tang Jin’s crowd being fake? With that generic, dime-a-dozen voice of hers? And somehow she still draws a crowd? Now that’s suspicious.”

The comment section quickly spiraled into a full-on fan war between Ye Fan and Tang Jin’s supporters.

Back on the street, Ye Fan smiled warmly at the crowd. “I’m filming a show,” she explained. “The goal is to earn some money in a short amount of time.”

“If there’s a piece you’d like to hear, I’d be happy to keep playing.”

Someone in the crowd spoke up: “As long as it’s you playing, we’ll love whatever it is.”

It was a Chinese student, her voice full of excitement as she looked at Ye Fan.

Several others quickly chimed in, echoing the sentiment.

Ye Fan smiled. “Alright.”

At that moment, all other sounds faded away. The once-bustling street fell silent.

Everyone watched Ye Fan with anticipation.

She picked up her violin once more.

This time, she chose a piece with a different style.

The previous piece had been lyrical and gentle, but this time, the melody was bright and lively. Ye Fan’s bow moved faster, yet her playing remained effortlessly composed.

Calm and poised, she played with quiet confidence, a faint smile curling at her lips.

Sunlight fell across her profile, softening as if even the light had been touched by her presence.

Without fail, everyone passing by paused in their tracks to listen.

Her music carried a rare clarity—cool and pure.

Just like Ye Fan herself.

She was like a blank canvas, untouched yet full of possibility—able to reflect the most beautiful colors, no matter what was painted onto her.

In the livestream, the comments were filled with praise. And whenever a discordant voice appeared, her fans were quick to drown it out with waves of support.

“She’s so gorgeous and plays the violin this beautifully? How is anyone else supposed to compete?”

“I’ve studied violin for years, and I can tell—Ye Fan has definitely put in countless hours of practice. Her technique is incredibly professional.”

On the street, all eyes were on Ye Fan. Some people even pulled out their phones to capture the moment on video.

Meanwhile…

Tang Jin was starting to feel tired. She wasn’t a trained singer to begin with, and after singing for so long, her voice was beginning to turn hoarse.

She glanced to the side—and there stood Gu Yachen, doing absolutely nothing.

Tang Jin was exhausted, while she was just standing there reaping the benefits, making money off Tang Jin’s hard work.

Of course, Tang Jin knew that most of that money was smoke and mirrors—propped up by the production team’s planted audience.

Still, she had put real effort into her performance. As long as Ye Fan ended up looking bad, that was enough.

During a break, Gu Yachen glanced around and said, “Tang Jin, don’t you think the crowd’s thinning out?”

Tang Jin didn’t seem concerned. “We’ve already made plenty of money. That’s all that matters.”

Gu Yachen hesitated. “But I noticed a lot of people are heading in the same direction…”

Tang Jin had been too focused on singing to notice, but now that Gu Yachen mentioned it, she realized the crowd around her had grown noticeably smaller.

Not far off, a few Chinese girls were chatting excitedly.

“Someone’s playing the violin over there! Let’s go watch—she’s really good!”

Tang Jin raised an eyebrow, forcing a smile. “Who are you talking about?”

One of the girls replied politely, “There’s a girl playing violin just over there. I think she’s also filming a show—just like you.”

Tang Jin’s heart skipped a beat.

A sense of unease crept into Tang Jin’s heart. Filming a show?

She forced herself to stay calm and asked, “Who’s the girl you’re talking about?”

The girl replied, “She’s Chinese, really beautiful, and her violin playing is amazing. A lot of people have gone over to watch her.”

With that, the girl and her friends walked off.

Tang Jin’s expression darkened. Of course—it’s Ye Fan.

She was singing, and now Ye Fan was playing the violin? Was Ye Fan deliberately trying to compete with her?

At that moment, Gu Yachen came over and, as if on cue, asked with a hint of worry, “You don’t think they’re talking about Ye Fan… do you?”

Tang Jin felt a wave of frustration rise in her chest. Under normal circumstances, she would’ve snapped at the staff by now. But with the livestream still running, she had no choice but to swallow her anger.

Tang Jin forced herself to maintain a calm expression. “Yeah.”

Gu Yachen didn’t seem too concerned. “Well, we’ve made so much money already. I doubt Ye Fan could top that.”

Tang Jin glanced at the pile of money they’d collected, and her confidence slowly returned.

That’s right. She’d already earned this much—no matter how talented Ye Fan was, there was no way she could catch up in such a short time.

A smile returned to Tang Jin’s face, and her nerves finally settled.

….

Meanwhile, Ye Fan had just finished another piece. Someone from the crowd stepped forward and asked if they could take a photo with her. She agreed with a smile.

They took the picture, thanked her, and left with happy, satisfied expressions.

Some people approached Ye Fan, asking her various questions. Ye Fan answered each one with patience, never showing any sign of impatience.

The scene played out live, and viewers in the livestream chat couldn’t help but react. The comments poured in, filled with praise for Ye Fan, but some were also raising questions.

“I’ve felt something was off since the show started. Ye Fan’s in charge of the money—there’s no reason for her to lose it.”

“This girl can produce such clean, pure violin music and takes everything seriously. I really don’t think she’s the one who lost the money.”

“To be honest, I think the show’s producers just released a teaser. We haven’t seen everything. Who knows? It could be a case of malicious editing.”

In this competition, it was clear that Ye Fan’s audience far outnumbered Tang Jin’s. The viewers were also keeping a close eye on the amount of money they were each earning.

It seemed like Ye Fan had practically secured the win!

Finally, someone raised a question. Ye Fan and Tang Jin had both appeared on the reality show together, and then Ye Fan lost the money, leading to an outpouring of online criticism.

Afterward, Ye Fan and Tang Jin were split into two groups to compete against each other. The producers, clearly capitalizing on the drama, set them up as rivals…

It was one thing after another. From the very beginning, could this all have been part of a publicity stunt?

=^_^=