Chapter Nine: "Farewell to Ideals"

“Sitting alone at the street corner, the cold wind wakes me, silently accompanying my solitary shadow.”
A line of lyrics, cold and desolate, reverberated through the hall. At that moment, it was as if all four walls had collapsed, and a biting wind surged in from every direction...

“No, please... that crying tone at the end broke me!”

“I want to cry. I can't bear to look at the synchronized lyrics on the big screen behind my idol... Oh god, do the lyrics have to be this heartbreaking?”

“It’s devastating! Just this one line, and I’ll be crying in my sleep tonight. My idol... don’t do this.”

Smitten female fans sat beneath the stage, some weeping, some frowning, some quietly sobbing. Women, especially sensitive, could not help but place themselves in the shoes of the song’s protagonist under such a mournful melody.

This was all thanks to the singer’s incredibly moving treatment of the song’s final notes.

Of course, the effect owed much to the school’s advanced stage equipment as well. The big screen behind projected the desolate lyrics, enveloping the audience in a gentle, intimate embrace, while intensifying the emotion in the music.

The singer’s skill, the melody, and the lyrics intertwined, producing an unexpectedly perfect result.

The lights gradually dimmed.

Only Ren Qian remained lit on stage. The carefully crafted lighting stretched his shadow, recreating the feeling of sitting alone on a street corner, just as in the song. Sure enough, the audience’s emotions deepened all the more.

“I only wish to hug my guitar tight and pour out my bitterness.
Right at this moment, memories come flooding back.
A surge of courage rises in my heart,
Casting aside reality with no worries,
As if I possess everything by my side.
Yet it seems I’ve built walls between me and others.
Filling empty cups with strong liquor,
Letting the wine wash away my sorrow.”

His slow, tearful lament, magnified by the sound system, sent a chill across the audience. It was as if each listener sat alone in the cold wind, helpless and desolate, their only companion the crooked shadow cast by a dim street lamp, struggling to hold back tears.

A sharp-edged stone seemed to press down on every heart, causing pain with every movement, and a dull ache when still. Was this what despair felt like? Was this the feeling of wandering the world like a soulless shell? Was this... me?

Suddenly, there was a longing to drown sorrows in wine, a sudden yearning for the childhood friends who’d stood by for years, a sudden wish for someone to brave the world alongside, and an overwhelming urge to weep...

“When will I meet my old confidants again?
If only we could gather and share stories of the past.
A surge of courage rises in my heart,
Casting aside reality with no worries,
As if I possess everything by my side...”

His voice faded slowly, leaving the audience lost in sorrow, forgetting even to applaud. Ren Qian gently set down his guitar, quickly pulling himself out of the song.

The opening song of the New Year’s Eve Gala was supposed to capture the audience’s interest for the shows to follow. To do this, the first song didn’t need to be upbeat, but it did need to be lively, to fire up the atmosphere and spark excitement and patience for what was to come. But Ren Qian had done the opposite—he chose a song steeped in melancholy.

Because this was Huang Jiaju’s first song, written before he’d ever received musical training. When he finished it, he was so thrilled that he couldn’t sleep for days.

Emotion is universal. In his previous life, Ren Qian had a deep bond with “Goodbye Ideal.” When he transcribed it in this life, he spent a whole night humming it restlessly.

And now, performing it before thirty thousand people, his emotions surged higher still. Having lived two lifetimes, he’d seen and thought much, and the feelings he expressed in his performance were all the more complex and interwoven.

Faint yet profound, evocative and deep.

This was the most immediate feeling the song left with the audience.

“‘Goodbye Ideal’ is the song of my transformation. But it doesn’t mean bidding farewell to my ideals forever, parting ways once and for all. Rather, it means seeing my ideals once again.

An ideal is a stone, striking sparks into flame.
An ideal is a flame, kindling a darkened lamp.
An ideal is a lamp, lighting the way through the night.
An ideal is a road, leading you to dawn.

So, to everyone here, whatever your circumstances, even in despair, do not abandon the reason in your heart. And remember, there has never been despair in this world—only people who despair of their ideals!”

Thunderous applause. Smitten female fans gazed up at Ren Qian, faces shining with tears, clapping until their palms hurt. The rest of the audience was no less generous, their applause and cheers lasting a full three minutes!

President Fang Qianshui of Jiangnan University nodded with a smile. “Which major in the Conservatory of Music is this young man from? Outstanding, absolutely outstanding. I’d like to speak with him. There are so few young people with such talent these days.”

“President Fang, Ren Qian isn’t from the Conservatory of Music. He’s a science prodigy—music is just his hobby.”

The surrounding officials were dumbfounded, their faces lost in disbelief. A science whiz, playing music? And playing this well? Not only had he stormed into the Weibo charts, but he also dominated every broadcast in the commercial districts of Jiangnan. The song’s melody was everywhere, echoing through every street and alley. You’d find yourself humming it without even noticing.

It was simply beyond belief.

While the senior leaders were left speechless by Ren Qian’s astonishing performance, Ren Qian stood up energetically.

Stagehands rushed out to remove the swivel chair and microphone stand.

“Next... I’m going to stand and sing!”

As soon as he spoke, as if in league with his suspense, the stage lights went pitch black, and the auditorium lights followed, one by one. Gasps and startled cries echoed below, especially from girls afraid of the dark.

Ren Qian’s heart surged with excitement. He remembered the last time he faced such a scene: giving a speech in college to a crowd of fresh-faced freshmen, their applause ringing in his ears. That applause had etched itself into his mind.

Now, Ren Qian stood on the stage in a new role, as if beginning life anew... and the feeling was even more exhilarating than his first triumphant debut.

He gripped the microphone tightly, and could actually hear the synchronized breathing of the audience below—clearly, everyone was tense.

Boom-boom! Boom-boom! Boom-boom!

A few rhythmic heartbeats echoed through the venue—Ren Qian gently tapping the microphone. At that moment, the lights burst forth, spinning and slashing in wild patterns to rival any nightclub, beams of colored lasers darting back and forth. It was impossible not to move with them. The band behind him struck up the drums, the sound of cymbals crashing.

This was a hype song, a song whose intro alone could send the crowd wild.

Was he about to sing a foreign song? The audience wondered.

In the Empire, lyrics tended to be classical, almost archaic, suited only to scholarly, elegant melodies. As a result, rock music had developed slowly, and the few attempts were poor imitations of foreign forms.

So the students’ first assumption was that Ren Qian was about to sing in a foreign language. Hearing a foreign song at the New Year’s Gala was always a bit disappointing, and the mood in the hall dipped slightly. This world didn’t revere foreign culture; in fact, there was a certain resistance—a subconscious defense of their own traditions.

But enough of that. The drums poured down like rain, the bass pulsed urgently!

The rhythm was exhilarating!

He was glad he had chosen to stand for this song—otherwise, he couldn’t have controlled it. The entire song was packed with breakneck rhythms, each line tumbling into the next.

Soon, the projection screen lit up, bright red letters appearing across it.

Ren Qian remained silent, and the crowd erupted in cheers, applause, and shrieks—the kind of wild tumult that only diehard fans could muster. Even if their hands hurt, they’d clap for their idol.

The spotlight focused on Ren Qian.

He struck a pose as if madly strumming a bass, tossing his head to the side in abandon.

“Oh my god... Is he not the coolest thing ever? Look at that profile, that stance—he must really play instruments to look this professional.”

Elsewhere—

“This intro is killing me. I just want to hear him start singing. As soon as he opens his mouth...”

“You’ll be gasping for breath...”

A handsome boy in the back, already brokenhearted, could only smile bitterly. He’d spent money and time chasing girls, only to be ignored. Meanwhile, Ren Qian had done nothing but sing two songs, and the girl was already beside herself with infatuation.

Was this really fair? The boy wore a miserable expression, inwardly gnashing his teeth at Ren Qian on stage.

“He’s singing! He’s singing! He’s singing!”

Sure enough, the girl let out a gasp, then began to scream hysterically.