A mood hung in the air, like a shared secret. Though no one spoke of it aloud, there was a tacit understanding among them all.
Everything about today was abnormal.
The lockdown, the work stoppage, the police on every street corner, the helicopters occasionally sweeping overhead...
But these anomalies formed the very undercurrent of excitement for this "stolen day."
The shackles of routine had momentarily loosened. Even if only for a few hours, these people—so used to being pushed along by life—felt a sliver of control returning to them.
Even if that control was manifested only in the small choice of "coming to see a concert."
"Hey, do you think Mengxi will sing 'Pendulum of the Sixth Hour' today? The lyrics fit the vibe so perfectly..."
"I hope she sings 'Light Chaser'! Every time I listen to it while working late, I feel like I'm being saved..."
"Will she have a new look? I can't wait!"
"I heard they invested a huge amount in stage effects this time. Wonder how flashy it'll be..."
Speculation and anticipation regarding the performance details gradually overpowered the faint unease caused by the anomalies outside.
Amidst the dim interplay of light and shadow in the auditorium, young faces were written with a vivid radiance unseen during the daylight hours.
For many, the idol on stage was a constant coordinate of beauty within their repetitive lives.
And today, this coordinate seemed to align with an unexpected "break" in reality, endowing the performance with a hazy, symbolic significance.
As the sky began to darken, the city lights outside the theater flickered on one by one, yet the city remained far quieter than usual.
Inside the theater, the audience was seated. The cacophony faded, transforming into a restless hum of expectation.
Everyone was waiting.
Suddenly—
Whoosh.
All lights, including the faint green glow of the emergency exit signs, extinguished at the exact same instant, without warning.
Absolute darkness enveloped the massive space, as if even sound had been sucked away for a moment.
Immediately following came a low, irrepressible wave of gasps.
The massive circular screen in the center of the stage opened its eyes slowly like a slumbering beast, lighting up with a phantom blue glow.
There were no images on the screen, only a string of massive, simple white numbers beating slowly with a rhythmic pulse.
02:00:00
And the moment a white line appeared from the far left of the screen, cutting horizontally through that string of time digits, the countdown began.
The numbers ticked down once per second. Mechanical, cold, filled with an unquestionable sense of ritual.
Yet, that white line piercing through time began to tremble like an electrocardiogram, revealing a contrasting warmth within this cold, absolute ceremony.
The audience fell completely silent. All conversation vanished.
Thousands of pairs of eyes stared deeply at the jumping numbers, breath held.
The air was filled with a near-holy concentration, as if they were collectively participating in an important covenant.
Two hours.
One hundred and twenty minutes.
Seven thousand, two hundred seconds.
In this silent gaze, the fatigue of daily life, the worries of work, the pressure of academics, the vague guesses about the city's abnormalities...
All were temporarily suspended, compressed into those ever-shrinking numbers.
At this moment, all anticipation and all attention were directed toward a single focal point—the teenage idol who had not yet appeared, but who had already seized control of the venue through darkness and a countdown.
Where would she appear from?
Descending from the sky? Rising from the center of the stage? Or quietly appearing amidst the audience?
What would the first song be?
A high-energy dance track? A soulful ballad? Or an immersive opening unlike anything seen before?
What was this countdown for?
What sight would greet them the moment the countdown ended?
Guesses flowed silently in the quiet. Glow sticks were gripped tightly in hands, still unlit, like torches awaiting a signal.
The numbers ticked steadily.
01:59:59
01:59:58
...
Time moved forward with unprecedented clarity and weight in this theater filled with darkness and expectation.
01:54:03
Against the black background, it flashed calmly, like the beat of an electronic heart.
Just as the audience was gradually adapting to this rhythmic darkness and the numbers, their minds almost fully immersed in imagining the unknown opening two hours away—
Pop.
A very faint sound—magnified countless times by the absolute silence—rang out. It sounded like a circuit breaker tripping or a signal cutting out.
The screen, along with the countdown numbers dancing upon it, extinguished completely.
It wasn't a fade-out. It wasn't a transition. It was absolute darkness and silence, as if the power had been severed with a single knife stroke.
Even the phantom blue background light vanished without a trace.
The entire venue plunged into a darkness far deeper than when the lights had first gone out.
Only the glow sticks, flashing headbands, and phone screens scattered among the audience remained, outlining the blurry silhouettes of the crowd like cheap diamonds spilled onto black velvet.
The first few seconds were a stunned silence.
Then, whispers spread like a tide from every corner.
"Eh? What happened?"
"Black screen?"
"Is it... a stage effect? A new way to make an entrance?"
"Doesn't look like it... there's no sound at all..."
The guesses were laced with uncertainty.
Many craned their necks, trying to see any movement on the stage through the darkness, expecting a figure to leap from the shadows in the next moment, or for the lights to reignite in a dazzling fashion.
The expectation of "stage effects" propped up their initial patience.
However, time passed, second by second. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, half a minute... The stage remained dead silent. The darkness was like a heavy curtain, unmoving.
The unrest in the audience began to escalate. Confusion turned into impatience.
"What the hell? How long has it been?"
"Don't tell me there's been an accident?"
"I fought so hard to get these tickets! I finally get a day off! And this is what I get?"
"Where's maintenance? Where are the staff?"
Complaints began to rise, especially among those who viewed this "stolen day" as a precious release and held high expectations for the performance.
For them, time was a luxury product. Every minute of waiting was a waste of this "unexpected gift."
They loathed the current situation—whether it was this sudden darkness, or the many similar, involuntary "interruptions" and "delays" in their lives.
another group still held onto hope, exchanging hushed words.
"Maybe it's a surprise? Mengxi always has lots of creative ideas."
"Let's wait a bit longer, maybe it'll be fixed right away."
"For a show this big, they definitely have backup plans."
Their eyes remained locked on the dark stage, fingers unconsciously rubbing their glow sticks, choosing to believe that a turn for the better lay in the "future," trusting that the meticulously prepared performance wouldn't end so sloppily.
And then there was a significant portion who appeared quite "zen." They leaned back in their chairs, some even pulling out their phones to scroll through social media by the light of their screens, or chatting quietly with companions, the topic already drifting away from the performance itself.
"Well, we're already in here. Just gotta wait, I guess."
"The shops outside are closed anyway. Nowhere to go even if we leave."
"Just treat it as a rest. These chairs are actually pretty comfy."
They chose to "muddle along." They didn't react intensely to the changes; they simply passively accepted the status quo, waiting for the outside world (the organizers) to solve the problem, completely surrendering their decision-making power.