Chapter 59: The Black Knight's Rose

The stage performance ended. Qiao Zhen slowly lowered the microphone, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

Her feet felt as though she were treading on clouds, a wave of relief washing over her like she’d just finished an exhausting eight-hundred-meter dash.

The song gradually faded, yet the audience remained lost in the star-studded night she’d conjured, unable to return to themselves for a long while.

The live chat exploded: [Explosive! Incredible! Beautiful voice!!!]
[(///▽///) Ahhh, Miss Number 99, this gentle strength—who can understand how I feel… I really, really like you]
[Don’t go! Don’t go, my love! Leave me your WeChat! (crazy kisses)]
[Followed! I must see my beautiful girl in the finals~ (anticipation)(starry eyes)]

Meanwhile, in the villa, outside the livestream screen—

A man’s gaze lingered on the center of the stage. His eyes grew colder, betraying emotions too complex to decipher.

Ji Xian pressed his thin lips together, his fair fingertips unconsciously curling into a fist, clenching tightly the white swan necklace he held.

He remembered—in his past life, he had opposed Qiao Zhen’s career, disapproved of her stepping into the public eye, singing and mingling in the entertainment industry.

How could the future madam of the Ji family be a mere singer?

So he suppressed her from the shadows. With just a word, he could easily break her wings, bind her firmly to his side.

After all, in her world, as long as she had him, it was enough.

His “friends” would mock her, calling her overambitious and deluded. Gradually, standing on stage, she seemed to grow less confident, her composure fading, her career sliding downhill, even showing signs of depression.

They’d had cold wars over this.

But each time, it was always Qiao Zhen who took the initiative to lower herself, obediently running to coax him, as though he was always her number one.

A single gentle smile from him, and her anger would dissolve—she was so easy to placate…

Yes, she’d been so devoted to him in their past life, so steadfast.

How could she possibly leave so easily this time?

The image of the radiant girl on stage was seared deep into his mind. Ji Xian felt like a volcano on the verge of eruption, about to lose control at any moment.

This sense of things slipping from his grasp, this unprecedented loss of control, was deeply unsettling… intolerable…

As Qiao Zhen stepped off the stage, her legs felt weak, and for a fleeting moment, tears threatened her eyes.

She’d actually finished her performance.

Really—it was over, as if she’d just experienced a dream…

The results of the competition would come later, but now, she felt a quiet confidence blooming inside her.

Qiao Zhen glanced down at her diamond-accented, Hepburn-style black dress, pressing her lips together.

She’d rented it especially for tonight, and even the little crown on her head was a bargain—less than ten yuan, the “diamonds” nothing but glass.

If she could secure a top spot, she’d win a generous cash prize. It would lighten the burden on her shoulders and maybe let her reward herself with a truly beautiful dress…

She unlocked her phone, and the dorm group chat was flooded with messages.

[Lulu]: “Holy crap, Zhen Zhen, you were amazing! So fucking good, I’m losing my mind! Crawling in the dark! Twisting and howling under my covers!”
[Yun Yue]: [voice message, 60 seconds]
[Chen Meixiang]: “Zhen Zhen, you’re going to blow up, you know? You were absolutely incredible! Ahhhh, you killed me [drooling.jpg]”
[Yun Yue]: “I just sent hundreds of comments during the stream—I’m now your most loyal fan army.”

Qiao Zhen’s heart softened, and she replied to each message with care.

She started watching the replay, observing her every move on stage. Her eyes widened, disbelief surfacing in her gaze.

Was that confident young woman really her?

She was stunned—even she hadn’t known she could, on stage, lock eyes with Qin Yichi amid a sea of people, as if drawn together by an intense, inescapable pull.

After watching the video several times, Qiao Zhen hurriedly put away her phone, glancing up instinctively toward the second floor.

She scanned face after face until her eyes grew sore, but she still couldn’t find Qin Yichi.

Strange—he’d been there just a moment ago…

“Qiao Zhen.”

A familiar voice sounded behind her, carrying the fresh scent of grass and flowers that enveloped her.

Qiao Zhen spun around, her eyes curving into crescent moons.

It seemed that no matter how hard she searched, Qin Yichi was always quietly by her side.

Caught off guard, she found a bouquet of black roses presented before her—elegant, exquisite, and suffused with a rich fragrance.

Romance itself seemed to rush toward her.

Qiao Zhen stared blankly, lifting her head in confusion.

Qin Yichi stood tall and lean, his black jacket accentuating his calm strength; his features were striking, his expression intense, masculinity radiating from him.

He held the bouquet in one hand, veins standing out on his wrist as he inclined his head, his voice deep and resonant like a cello:

“Congratulations. Your performance was perfect.”

For a moment, Qiao Zhen’s breath caught—she couldn’t tell if it was joy or surprise, whether it was his words or the flowers that moved her more.

Her mind went blank, and she blurted out, “You… why did you…”

Why did you suddenly bring flowers?

Qin Yichi looked away, awkward, his tone nonchalant: “Oh, the florist was having a sale. I bought them on a whim.”

Then, in a lazy afterthought, he added, “See? Everyone else has flowers too.”

Qiao Zhen glanced around—other contestants were surrounded by family, partners, or friends, each receiving bouquets as encouragement.

The florist next door was probably grinning from ear to ear…

Still, Qiao Zhen hesitated to accept the flowers. Surprises like this felt almost undeserved, as if a delicious pie had fallen from the sky into her hands, but she was too afraid to take a bite.

Moreover, the black rose’s meaning was:

Loyalty, sincerity, and uniqueness.

Qin Yichi’s throat was dry as he spoke softly, “Don’t you like them?”

Qiao Zhen snapped out of her daze. Her lips moved faster than her mind, blurting, “I love them!”

How could she not?

She took the exquisite bouquet, and repeated softly, sincerely, “Qin Yichi, I love them—really, I do…”

A large bouquet of black knight roses rested in her arms, the stark contrast of black and white exuding an air of sophistication, like an ink painting one could lose themselves in.

And, more importantly, the bouquet matched her black dress perfectly, as if chosen just for her.

Qiao Zhen looked down and noticed an English card nestled among the flowers, freezing for a moment:

[Let me be yOUr Shelter.]

“Let me be your haven.”

Or, in a more romantic sense:

“Let me be the one who protects you.”