Epilogue I: The Song that Sang of Time
"He wrote no lyrics—because the music itself remembered everything."
The stars had barely faded from the morning sky when Haochen sat before the grand piano in the east chamber.
He had not slept.
Not eaten.
Not spoken.
For three days, his mind had been a storm. A thousand years of civilizations echoed through his soul. The rise and fall of empires pulsed like drumbeats in his chest. The cries of forgotten poets, the clash of kings, the silken silence of a single tear dropped by a mother in the ashes of war—he heard it all.
And now, he would turn it into song.
The Composition Begins
Pearl watched him from the balcony, silent.
Jade sat cross-legged nearby, frozen mid-sketch.
Crystal stood with a notepad she never wrote on.
Emerald… just closed her eyes and listened.
Then…
He touched the keys.
The first note was not beautiful.
It was ancient.
A low hum, like the groan of earth waking from sleep. Then came the tremble of strings, vibrating like the rise of civilizations, followed by a motif so fragile it sounded like dust blowing through ruins.
The Bronze Age marched forward in minor chords.
The Han and Qin clashed in triumphant bursts of thunder.
The Ming whispered through violins.
The World Wars wept from beneath the keys.
It was not music.
It was memory.
A full orchestra had not yet touched it. And yet, as Haochen composed—alone, barefoot, eyes half-closed—it already felt eternal.
The Moment of Silence
He finished as the first rays of sun slipped through the curtains.
And for a long time, no one spoke.
Even Crystal, ever logical, said nothing.
Then Jade whispered:
"I felt… everything. Grief I didn't live. Glory I never touched."
Pearl stepped forward and placed a single hand on his shoulder.
"You wrote the world down, little star."
"No," Haochen replied, voice hoarse.
"I just let it speak."
When the press asked for the name of the piece, he did not give them one in English or Chinese.
He wrote three characters on parchment and handed them to Pearl.
She read aloud:
"纪年"— The Chronicle
(A Record of Time)
The World Responds
The International Music Commission called it a "once-in-a-millennium composition."
World leaders demanded its premiere be held at the Grand Imperial Hall in Vienna—a venue used only for the rarest performances in global history.
Even the Maestro of the Vienna Philharmonic bowed when he read the sheet.
"This child has composed the soul of mankind."
They gave him the closing performance slot.
The final act of the Gala of Nations.
Haochen accepted.
Preparations for Departure
One week before the gala, the Long estate stirred.
A custom gold-trimmed jet, engraved with the Long family crest, was prepared—equipped with everything: a mobile grand piano, soundproof practice chambers, crystalline dining halls, and a high-speed data lab for Crystal to monitor live sound translation.
Pearl handled diplomatic clearances in four languages.
Jade designed the color palette of their attire: silvers, midnight blues, and moon gold.
Emerald packed a small notebook filled with Haochen's childhood songs.
When asked why, she simply said:
"So when the world screams his name… he'll remember where he began."
Departure
On the day of the flight, the Long siblings emerged together.
Haochen's long black hair was tied back—a single stream trailing down his back, woven with silver by Emerald's hand. Two white strands framed his face, glowing faintly under the morning sun, matching the ethereal shimmer of his eyes.
He wore a fitted black mandarin suit embroidered with a constellation across the chest.
He walked slowly, solemnly, like a prince burdened with time.
And behind him walked the four gems of the Long name:
Pearl, in a gown of pearlescent white, carrying grace like a crown.
Crystal, in sharp silver-blue, her gaze sharp as tempered glass.
Jade, in flowing green, barefoot and smiling with mischief.
Emerald, in deep forest black, quiet as shadow beside her star.
The gold-trimmed stairs lowered from the private jet.
The press gasped. The cameras flashed. The world fell into reverent silence.
And as Haochen reached the top step, he turned, reached for his sisters' hands—
and together, they descended.