Chapter 45: Angel’s Melody

The café booth felt colder, the air conditioning’s hum underscoring the tension.
Sunlight filtered through the windows, casting jagged shadows on the music box as Jiang Yuxin placed it on the table.

“Yin Xiran,” she said, her gaze steady, “be ready.”

Yin Xiran’s eyebrows lifted, but she leaned forward, eyes sharp, poised to act.

Jiang Yuxin wound the box’s spring, each metallic click echoing like a heartbeat in the booth.
Chen Dongyang tensed, glancing around for threats.
Yin Qingle gripped her clothes, her eyes resolute despite her fear.

When the spring reached its limit, Jiang Yuxin released it.
A haunting, melancholic melody spilled from the box, piercing the café’s noise with unnatural clarity.

The four held their breath.
No monsters appeared.
The other patrons chattered on, oblivious.
The melody faded, leaving the café unchanged.

“What’s going on…” Chen Dongyang muttered, confused.

Jiang Yuxin’s eyes swept over them.
“Have you heard this melody—or anything like it—anywhere? A song, anywhere?”

Chen Dongyang and Yin Qingle shook their heads.
“It’s unique,” Chen Dongyang said.
“Sad, eerie. Unforgettable.”

“Same,” Yin Qingle whispered.

But Yin Xiran frowned.
“Not necessarily,” she said, staring at the box.
“Some sounds, you hear but don’t notice.”

“What do you mean?” Chen Dongyang asked.

Jiang Yuxin pointed to the massive LED screen outside, where “Stardust” looped her performance.
“What’s that song called?”

Chen Dongyang read the screen’s text.
“‘Angel’s Melody’…”

His voice caught, realization hitting like a shockwave.
Angel’s Melody. Angel.

The screen cut to an ad, the pop song halting.

“Sound is vibration,” Yin Xiran said calmly, tapping her untouched water glass.

The water quivered, vibrating at a high, rhythmic frequency, playing the pop song’s melody.
Chen Dongyang glanced around, worried others would notice.

“No one will,” Jiang Yuxin said coldly.

Yin Xiran focused on the glass.
“The song’s structure is basic, but it hides discordant vibrations. A secondary sound, masked by the main melody, too subtle for most ears but absorbed subconsciously.”

She gestured, splitting the water into two parts.
One played the pop song; a few drops hovered, vibrating with a different, faint melody.

She released the main melody, the larger water mass falling still.
The drops’ sound became clear—ethereal, sad, eerie.
Identical to the music box.

Silence gripped them.
The drops fell back, merging with the water, as if nothing had happened.
But the melody weighed like a stone in their hearts.

“How…” Chen Dongyang’s voice cracked, his eyes on the ad-playing screen.
A chill ran through him.

If the melody caused the suicides, anyone who heard it—on radio, online, in malls—could be a future victim.
Thousands, millions, exposed unknowingly.
The “angel” didn’t hunt; it broadcast its deadly “gospel,” targeting those with latent despair.

A psychic attack, indiscriminate and unstoppable.