Today’s stage is great

The sky outside was overcast, heavy clouds unmoved by the deafening firecrackers, growing darker as humidity thickened. It felt like last night’s storm hadn’t fully spent itself, ready to resume.

The principal’s speech ended, giving way to honorary alumni donations and talks.

Bored, the Burning Meteor members hid in a side room. Even as students, they loathed these formalities; now, they cared less, fleeing the reserved front-row seats after a second, citing “performance prep.”

Xu Fengluan, restless, waited for Liu Tingsong’s reply, but none came.

She spun her phone in her palm, stopping when the back faced up.

The plain transparent case still held a white cat hair, now joined by a long black strand.

Her sharp gaze softened, green eyes warming.

Liu Tingsong, ever jealous, hadn’t mentioned the cat hair during an interview. Only later, in the hotel room after passion subsided, did she curl lazily in Xu Fengluan’s arms, tucking a freshly fallen hair into her palm, looking aggrieved.

Xu Fengluan hadn’t caught on until Liu Tingsong’s eyes flicked to the phone, prompting a helpless laugh.

Jealous of a cat—she wanted her hair there too.

Her thumb grazed the case, brushing the curled strand through the plastic.

The irritation from Liu Tingsong’s silence dissipated.

As the tedious speeches neared their end, a student knocked, signaling their opening performance.

The four rose lazily, following the student.

Chu Cheng, never idle, chatted with the student about teachers and the principal, quickly warming them up.

Xu Fengluan trailed behind, thumb tapping her phone, sending messages that went unanswered.

Since reuniting, this was Liu Tingsong’s longest disappearance, feeling off.

Footsteps approached—four or five people passed by.

Xu Fengluan, focused on her phone, barely noticed, catching only a glimpse of light-colored clothing, quickly forgotten.

“Senior, we’re here,” the student said.

At that moment, the host onstage, after a string of adjectives, shouted, “Let’s welcome Burning Meteor!”

The sleepy atmosphere shattered, cheers erupting—far more exciting than endless speeches.

Lights dimmed, whispers filled the dark, excited faces faintly visible.

“They actually got Burning Meteor! I thought it was a rumor.”

“How could they not? Don’t forget Xu Fengluan and Chu Cheng are our seniors.”

“Our teacher gossiped that Xu Fengluan was wild her freshman year—skipping classes, never in her dorm. If her family hadn’t donated two buildings, she’d have been kicked out.”

“Right, she was in economics. Why’d she start a band?”

“Her family pushed her,” someone answered.

They added, “Burning Meteor formed her sophomore year. Probably cut a deal with her family. She only studied seriously after that. My teacher praised her, saying she could’ve excelled in economics if not for music. But with the band blowing up on that show, no way she’d switch careers.”

“Maybe not. Isn’t she a rich kid? Bet she agreed to play music for a few years, then inherit the family business.”

Heads nodded, as if they’d cracked the case.

“Which buildings did her family donate? Zhuohua and Hualin? I swear someone mentioned them.”

The student slapped their head, groaning, “How did I fall asleep?”

Before they could continue, a nearby DSLR flashed, testing.

Tripods and cameras dotted the crowd, mostly Burning Meteor fan photographers who’d snagged special seats through unofficial channels.

Among them was Liu Tingsong, dressed in her usual black outfit, hat, and mask, clutching her phone as it lit up and dimmed, her gaze fixed on the dark stage.

Blue beams pierced the air, weaving without white light, keeping things hazy. Only instruments and silhouettes emerged through rising fog. The LED screen showed a starry sky, then “Burning Meteor” in wild, colorful script, vanishing to reveal the song title: *Unrestrained*.

Camera shutters clicked like cannons.

Drums kicked off, not the usual heavy strikes but a careless rhythm.

Kuang Ye’s cross earring and lip ring swayed as she shook her head, foot on the pedal, drumsticks falling repeatedly.

The LED screen morphed into a reeling figure, stumbling forward to the beat.

Ji Lunan’s fingers danced on the keyboard, casual yet precise.

A leather choker circled Chu Cheng’s neck, her loose black-and-red tee tied with a red belt. Her eyes, fiery beneath a calm facade, met the crowd, her exposed arms gleaming.

No lyrics yet—rock prioritized rhythm, and it surged on.

No need for cues; phones and arms waved below, rising and falling like waves.

Chu Cheng, clutching a black electric guitar, her sleeveless arms adorned with studded leather, jumped in sync with her strumming, red hair flying.

“Burning Meteor!”

Someone’s shout, cracking with excitement, sparked a chain of frenzied cheers.

“Burning Meteor!”

Ji Lunan, at the keyboard, didn’t quiet the crowd—she waved, egging them on.

After thirty seconds, Xu Fengluan’s lazy whistle cut through, drawing all eyes.

The LED screen flashed chaotic colored lines, a black-masked figure stepping through a cosmic storm.

“Look, look,” her nonchalant hum began.

“She’s pointing, pointing at the dog cage.”

“Me in the cage, she’s laughing, talking to me.”

“She says, says she wants me tame.”

Xu Fengluan’s sudden laugh carried mockery, her lips curling, bass notes laced with jest.

A dog appeared at the masked figure’s feet, shaking its head, wagging its tail.

Chu Cheng made a face, mimicking dog ears with her hands, barking weirdly.

Xu Fengluan lowered her voice, murmuring fast, “She says, says she wants me tame.”

“She says, says she wants me tame.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Drums stopped, all sound vanished, leaving only the dog wagging onscreen. @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

Xu Fengluan gripped the mic, shouting hoarsely, “They want me tame!”

Lights blazed, spotlighting the four. Bass, drums, and guitar roared like a floodgate, filling every inch, threatening to tear the roof off, flip the stage.

“Sorry, I’m not a begging, tail-wagging dog.”

“Not a dog crawling at their feet.”

“They want, want me tame.”

“I’m not, I’m not a begging, tail-wagging dog.” @Infinite Good Stories, Exclusively at Jinjiang Literature City

“Not a crawling dog.”

Chu Cheng stomped on a speaker, leaning back, her strumming hands a blur.

Drumsticks crashed, Kuang Ye hunched, sweat dripping from her forehead.

Ji Lunan’s hands flew, leaning to the mic to back up the vocals.

Blue beams flickered,摇头 lamps cast light patches, fog thickening, nearly engulfing the stage. The onscreen dog wagged, buried under piling lyrics, like chains and cages.

Xu Fengluan’s gaze dropped to the crowd, her unfocused eyes finding a mark.

Liu Tingsong looked up, unflinching, meeting her across the sea of people.

A roguish smile spread onstage, as if saying to Liu Tingsong, *I caught you. I’ve always caught you.*

From the moment I stepped onstage, my body found you faster than my mind.

“Look, look.”

“She’s pointing, pointing at the dog cage.”

“Me in the cage, she’s laughing, talking to me.”

“She says, says she wants me tame.”

Her voice faded, instruments turning ethereal.

Outside, clouds thickened, ink-soaked, whipped by sudden winds. Sturdy maples swayed, leaves falling faster than rain. A thunderous rumble signaled a downpour, raindrops like marbles hitting the ground.

But none of it touched the auditorium’s fervor. Some stood on chairs, shouting, reveling.

Song after song.

Even when lights dimmed, the heat lingered. As the next act began, the crowd swayed, still lost in the drums.

Burning Meteor slipped back to their side room.

No one spoke, drained of energy, needing a moment to recover.

Chu Cheng hugged a pillow from who-knows-where.

Kuang Ye sprawled on the sofa.

Ji Lunan scrolled through her daughter’s photos.

Xu Fengluan checked her phone. The missing Liu Tingsong finally messaged—a cat apologizing emoji, followed by: [Really wanted to see your performance, so I snuck over.]

[Stage was amazing, baby’s getting better and better.]

After a minute’s hesitation: [Don’t be mad.]

Xu Fengluan’s lips curved.

No replies, yet she’s told not to be mad? Liu Tingsong’s getting bold.

If she wanted to watch, fine—she wouldn’t stop her. Why sneak?

Xu Fengluan recalled an empty seat beside Liu Tingsong.

She grabbed her cap and mask, threw on an unbuttoned plaid shirt for cover, and stood to leave.

Chu Cheng and the others, exhausted, didn’t care.

The door closed, footsteps echoing.

Xu Fengluan planned to slip out the back, circle to the front.

But before reaching the door, a voice came from behind.

“Today’s stage was incredible.”

Xu Fengluan froze in place.