Fellow Travelers

"What's going on? Everything was fine during rehearsal."

Mo Peng was merely an ordinary audience member, at most a relative of one of the performers. Asking him to know any inside details was asking too much. He babbled on for quite a while, only trying to ease his anxiety, without managing to explain anything clearly.

Ronan listened quietly without speaking. Only after the woman who had hurried away beside him had gone far enough did he give a grunt. "I get it. Maybe they just changed the lineup order. That's common during performances. Didn't Mo Ya tell you anything?"

"Her phone was already off. I called Hai Jing-ge too, but he didn't explain anything either and hung up quickly... Hey, they didn't cut the act, did they?"

"Don't overthink it. It'll be fine. I'll be there soon. Save me a seat."

Ronan ended the call. By then, the man who had been kicked away still had not fully risen. It was not that the kick had hurt him badly, but that he had finally noticed the dense crowd here—especially Ronan at the front—and was staring in stunned confusion.

He was about the same age as Cao Shanhai, perhaps even younger, with lingering traces of alcohol or some other nerve-numbing substance on his face. After spacing out for several seconds, he instinctively pulled on his clothes. That lightweight, antique-style robe was indeed quite useful for covering himself up.

Ronan said nothing. He simply stepped forward, went around the floral partition, and entered the messy "battlefield" on the grass.

The man subconsciously assumed Ronan intended to settle accounts with him and quickly retreated a step. The ground beneath him was perfectly level, yet his feet knocked together and he nearly tripped himself, breaking out in a cold sweat. That at least jolted