Through the dazzling stage lights, the “beauty” violinist seemed to be bathed in an enchanting glow.

Excluding the hazy mist on her face that resembled a pixelated mosaic, her elegant black evening gown, which was not particularly revealing, accentuated her perfect curves with precision. Yet even a slimming black dress couldn’t hide the towering peaks of her chest.

When she slowly raised her violin, it was as if she wasn’t cradling it between her collarbone and chin but placing it atop that chest.

One could almost believe her chest could support a tray of drinks—at least two cups of milk tea!

However, that kind of ample... seemed oddly familiar.

Moen rubbed his chin, instinctively pondering it.

But he quickly cast such thoughts aside.

Judging people by their chest? No matter how one reasoned, it felt absurd. He wasn’t some protagonist in an adult game endowed with extraordinary abilities.

Moreover, the performance was about to begin.

The “beauty” violinist appeared a bit nervous, evident in the deep breaths she took, causing the scenery of her chest to become even more striking.

But once her bow met the strings, everything came to a halt.

It was as though an invisible domain spread outward, plunging the world into absolute silence.

The previously irate guests now fell quiet, their gazes drawn irresistibly to the violinist on stage.

Then, the music began.

The flowing melody was like water, instantly immersing everyone present.

Moen’s eyes suddenly lit up, as if transported away from the cramped, dimly-lit restaurant and into a boundless ocean.

He saw waves surging, the sounds of crashing tides.

The blue sea and the blue sky formed an incomparably pure canvas.

And then, at the far horizon where sea met sky, a light appeared.

It wasn’t sunlight. It wasn’t starlight.

It felt like the ultimate essence of all sacred things in existence—a light capable of purifying every blemish of the soul... holy light.

Moen felt as though he had been cleansed.

Chest?

Ha, that was nothing but corruption hindering my aspirations to rise above.

I don’t need it...

Wait!

Moen suddenly shivered and snapped back to his senses.

What’s going on? Am I turning into a monk just by listening to some music?

Instinctively, Moen glanced toward the other people present.

It wasn’t just him; the other guests, engrossed in this enchanting melody, had pushed aside their prior anger and impatience. Their expressions became serenely calm, their eyes gleaming as if witnessing the guidance of a goddess.

Even Shawn, who had just been mourning the loss of his wife, now appeared dazed, a smile gracing his face as though he were immersed in the deepest longing of his heart.

What the heck?

Can music really be this infectiously powerful?

No, something’s off.

Moen turned his eyes back to the stage, to the “beauty” violinist gracefully playing her instrument.

Being the son of a duke, Moen naturally possessed a certain level of musical expertise and could confidently discern that this “beauty’s” skills were indeed impressive, earning her the title of “soloist.”

Yet it was impossible for her performance to achieve the level of purifying souls or revealing visions of life’s beauty.

For music to evoke such intense resonance, the performer must imbue it with an equal depth of emotion. Given that she hadn’t even fully revealed her face, it was clear she hadn’t infused much sentiment into her playing.

She was performing in a formulaic manner. Yet somehow the melody remained profoundly moving.

There’s something unusual in this music.

Moen’s eyes narrowed sharply.

But as he focused, scrutinizing every detail of the “beautiful” violinist, he couldn’t detect any trace of magical fluctuations or unusual energies emanating from her.

It was simply that, as her performance continued to deepen, the glow surrounding her became increasingly pronounced.

Every effortless movement of her hands seemed to spill immaculate holy light, as if purifying all impurities in the world.

Wait...

Holy light?

Moen’s eyes shot wide open, as if he had stumbled upon a revelation.

...

When the performance ended, the restaurant fell into a deathly silence.

But when the “beauty” violinist nervously cradled her instrument and bowed, the atmosphere instantly erupted.

Thunderous applause surged like waves, accompanied by shouts of praise and sobs, nearly lifting the restaurant’s roof.

Even Shawn, sitting beside Moen, wiped his tears while clapping vigorously.

“What an extraordinary performance. I felt as though my departed wife had returned to life, smiling at me.”

“…”

Moen remained silent; his gaze flickered in contemplation before subtly signaling to the waiter who was rushing to maintain order.

“Could you ask the violinist to come over for a moment?”

“This…”

The waiter, drenched in sweat, abandoned his usual professionally trained smile and instead wore a look of pure distress.

“Dear guest, I understand your enthusiasm—everyone feels the same—but according to our establishment’s rules, it’s not permitted for guests to disturb the performers. Otherwise—”

*Thud.*

Moen dropped a stack of bills onto the waiter’s serving tray. “This is the tip.”

The waiter’s eyes froze, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

“I… I don’t think this is appropriate…”

*Thud.*

“Restaurant policy...”

*Thud.*

“Sir, I’ve encountered wealthy individuals before, but you really can’t…”

*Thud thud thud thud thud…*

“I—I’ll go straight away! I promise to bring her here for you!”

Shaking with excitement, the waiter clutched a tray now piled like a small mountain of cash and darted off.

Soon enough, Moen saw him sneakily approaching the stage, whispering something to the violinist.

He couldn’t hear what they were saying nor make out their specific actions.

But it was clear the violinist initially refused outright.

Until the waiter began stuffing something into her hands—then more—and even more after that.

Though it seemed to amount less than Moen’s offerings, she finally consented.

She began walking toward him.

Appearing anxious, her steps were hesitant yet driven forward by some unnamed force, her gait reasonably steady.

It wasn’t until she stepped beyond the stage’s bright lighting, crossing the boundary between light and shadow, that her movements came to an abrupt halt.

Typically, someone in a brightly lit area without special methods could hardly discern what lay in the darkness.

So, as she entered this dim space, her vision finally gave clarity to Moen’s face.

A face she could never have anticipated under any circumstances.

Her slender frame began trembling.

Shaking uncontrollably.

Like a mouse cornered by a cat, the quivering extended even to her chest, making its towering peaks appear even grander.

She looked as though she might bolt at any moment, but something seemed to restrain her—or perhaps she suddenly recollected something else. Drawing a deep breath, she carefully stood before Moen.

Even though her face was still obscured, Moen inexplicably gleaned an air of vulnerability from her demeanor.

“Is something wrong?”

Moen raised his brow inquisitively, casting another cursory glance at the trembling “beauty” violinist, teasingly curious:

“Did I grow something terrifying on my face?”

“N-No…”

She spoke, her voice as melodious as that of a songbird.

Then she froze for a moment, her tone abruptly shifting into something raspy and unfamiliar:

“I… I’m just a little... surprised.”

“Surprised?”

Moen flashed a faint smile, crossing his legs casually and swirling his wine glass as he spoke with nonchalance:

“Surprise, huh? Now that’s interesting. The word ‘surprise’... Is it possible that I’ve had the privilege of being recognized by you, the esteemed violinist?”