There had always been voices decrying the injustice of the orphanage system. Ordinary families who raised their own children in private could be sentenced to as much as a thousand years of imprisonment of consciousness. Yet, the two great mountains pressing down on everyone—the Withered-Flower family and the Winter family—could blatantly practice aristocratic education within their own ranks. The successors of their family industries were, without exception, children from within the families.
These words had never caused much of a stir online. A vagrant would only ever direct their loathing toward a vagrant slightly wealthier than themselves, never daring to even glance up at those high and mighty figures.
Whenever public opinion began to ferment, the city radio stations and media companies under the families' names would drop some scandalous news, and the matter would simply pass.
Even if there were individuals who had reached the elite class through their own efforts, none would be foolish enough to try and break through the massive net woven by the two behemoths on their own. Having reached such heights, they naturally knew better than ordinary people what should be said and what should not.
Thus, these distorted policies and systems were carried out as a matter of course on the Star of Art, popularizing themselves in every corner of the city and extending into every facet of human life.
Vantel’s chest heaved violently before he let out a muffled groan, unable to say another word.
The crowd also stopped their movements one after another, well aware that everything happening now could only be described as the retribution they deserved.
In that moment, everyone's gaze fell simultaneously upon the blue-haired girl on the stage.
"Shouldn't 'art' have been a beautiful word from the very beginning?"
"Just as 'On Art' says—the very first book used for our introductory education."
"'Art is the spring of wisdom for the people, the pursuit of beauty, the sustenance for all emotions.'"
"'It is a way to creatively express emotions, concepts, and reality, making the world a better place.'"
"Looking at it now, has it truly brought us beauty? Or rather, do people really engage in artistic creation out of a pursuit of beauty?"
Tang Xin recalled many memories sealed under ice and snow. She remembered the man she had seen on the street after leaving the Gloomy Girls Band. He was wearing only a thin cloth shirt, covered in snowflakes. Despite being destitute, he did not beg; he only longed for someone to stop and applaud the melody he plucked.
She could not forget the man's dimmed gaze when she had handed him hot food.
"On my journey growing up, I have seen many people like him. They are ordinary people, shivering in the freezing snow, their fingers frozen stiff and turning purple, yet they still hope for recognition from others. They long for someone to stop their footsteps and cheer for the music they play..."
Inside a tram behind the curtain, a young girl covered her face and wept upon hearing these words. She had recently received this month's rank assessment results and was currently on her way to a capsule apartment at the Life Daybreak Relief Bureau. Barring any accidents, she would be moved to the Keyboard District next month, perhaps never to return.
She thought of the video she had just posted on the Curtain Net, playing a melody she had practiced countless times day and night, desperate to earn a sliver of sympathy. Yet, all she received was mockery from people who believed that with her terrible sense of pitch, being sent to the Keyboard District was exactly what she deserved.
People bowed their heads in silence, watching the girl speak. Tang Xin's voice did not just echo in the Grand Theater—the ultimate stage countless people yearned for—it also resonated in every corner of the city.
An ordinary bakery owner looked at a fresh tray of bread. Hearing a customer's impatient urge, he fell into deep thought, remembering his ambitious self when he had just left the Starry Art Academy. Looking at his current, ordinary self, a bitter smile touched the corner of his mouth.
Before the tram pulled into the station, people saw a man frozen into a statue in a snowdrift, still clutching a guitar in his arms...
Tang Xin's words struck a chord with many. What she described was the epitome of the vast majority of ordinary people. The word 'art' felt so close to them, integrated into every aspect of their lives, yet so far away, hanging unreachable in the distant sky.
They could only watch as their once high-spirited selves were buried in the crowd. Gifted people would effortlessly leave them far behind. Later, even if they felt resistance, pain, or even disgust toward art, they had to hold their noses and continue their artistic creations just to prove to society that they were not anomalies.
People could not help but wonder: Why was this city so absurd?
"You have no right to say these things!" someone in the audience shouted, pointing at Tang Xin. "What could a spoiled brat raised in a family like yours possibly understand?"
"Your head is full of nothing but naive idealism. Have you ever looked at things from our perspective? Have you ever left your greenhouse?"
"Don't forget your surname, Sevia Winter!"
These words seemed to wake everyone up. The crowd's empathy quickly reverted to coldness, and they even cast hostile glares at the girl.
Facing their scrutinizing gazes, Tang Xin did not back down in the slightest. "Senior Malfur, since you asked me that, do you know what happened in the Keyboard District two days ago?"
Everyone's eyes shifted to the youth in the audience. He was a student council member, and his loud questioning of the girl was naturally intended to catch the attention of the board of directors from the Starry Gallery.
No one expected the girl to call him out by name and question him directly.
"This... this... what else could have happened? Just a small earthquake," the youth responded in a low voice.
"It seems 'most people' do not know the truth." Tang Xin took a deep breath and spoke words that sent a shock through everyone present.
"'The Artist' descended in the Keyboard District two days ago."
"Coincidentally, because I was there to donate funds, I was on the scene. You can check the news from two days ago right now."
An uproar broke out in the audience. "The Artist" was undoubtedly a blade hanging over everyone's head, a name that struck terror into their hearts. For such a major event, the vast majority of them had not heard even a whisper. All the news controlled by the upper levels merely stated it was an ordinary earthquake.
People couldn't help but feel terrified by the invisible information cocoons built over their heads.
"See? She admitted it. She only appeared in the Keyboard District to donate funds. Who doesn't know that's just a common 'gold-plating' tactic used by you family politicians? This hypocrite has finally shown her tail!" Malfur looked around as if he had obtained decisive evidence, seeking the approval of those around him.
"She is just a..."
Under the horrified gazes of countless people, Tang Xin removed her gloves and unwound the medical bandage around her neck, revealing severely damaged skin. As hundreds of cameras zoomed in, people finally saw the twisted bullet hole that pierced through the girl's neck.
[: My god...]
[: So Miss Sevia suffered such an injury on the island...]
[: Is there anyone left who doesn't know that Miss Sevia grew up in the Iris Orphanage?]
"I am sorry, but I was born in the Iris Orphanage in the Keyboard District, and I grew up there."
"As for these ugly scars, can they serve as a symbol of the suffering I have endured?"
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