Chapter Sixteen: The Empress’s Startled Reactions

"Good, not bad at all—excellent! You've caught the best of times!" Lin Ruowan patted Ren Qian's shoulder earnestly.

If you were to look back at records released fifteen years ago, you’d find not a single song of any other style. The reason was simple: fifteen years ago, the era belonged entirely to ancient-style music. No matter the singer, one could not escape the label of “ancient style.” If they wanted to sign with an entertainment company, they had to sing ancient-style songs; if they wanted the audience’s approval, ancient-style songs were a must; if they wished for fame and fortune, again, ancient-style songs were their only path!

It was from that era onward that the concept of ancient style as orthodoxy took root deeply in the hearts of the empire’s people—a notion that, on the surface, seemed absurd. Yet in Huaxia’s culture, such phenomena were hardly rare. Take, for instance, the two-thousand-year continuation of male superiority, or the centuries-old reverence for Confucianism over commerce and science. This nation always seemed to develop certain things in a strangely skewed way.

Admittedly, the ancient style had its dazzling qualities. It embraced traditional Chinese instruments—guzheng, shakuhachi, ruan, flute, and xun for accompaniment. Some grand, majestic pieces even employed Shang dynasty chime bells, creating a magnificent spectacle. The lyrics could draw from five thousand years of Chinese culture, endowing the songs with profound cultural richness.

When ancient-style songs debuted, Huaxia was enraptured. The Chinese music scene entered a golden age, with many outstanding works exported abroad. The great lyricists of the time penned verses rivaling literature itself, with some lyrics even making it into school textbooks.

Yet, behind this golden age, a crisis lurked—

The prevalence of ancient style led the Chinese music industry down a path of distorted growth. For over a decade, generations of imitators recycled the old masters' works, endlessly reheating the leftovers, unable to innovate.

Now, ancient-style songs had become synonymous with melodramatic lamentations, their lyrics perpetually steeped in sorrow—complaints from deep chambers, or grief in grand halls...

A typical group of melodramatic youths, composing, writing, and singing.

That was why Lin Ruowan said Ren Qian was born into the best of times. Someone as unconventional and forward-thinking as Ren Qian, had he been born fifteen years prior, might have met the same bitter end as himself and Lu Li.

“Brother Lin, times have truly changed—it's nothing like fifteen years ago. Citizens of the empire are growing weary of ancient-style songs, and more and more people are tuning in to foreign music. Recently, a young man posted a Cantonese song online; do you know how popular it got? That single song alone shot him to the top of the Wei Bo trending chart!

Even I, the queen, can only reach the top spot during my concert tours, relying on the company’s promotional machine.

To climb up there solely by reputation and talent—it's nearly impossible! You can feel the contrast yourself.

I believe a new era is about to dawn, and if... you make a comeback, I think you’ll be its pioneer. I truly believe that.”

The beautiful woman let her gaze drift over the nurse’s father, then turned back to Ren Qian. The Cantonese song Ren Qian had just performed had left a deep impression on her—the quality was high, and the young man’s talent was evident. A promising seedling indeed. But in her eyes, the most gifted of all was still her Brother Lin. So after glancing at Ren Qian, her attention moved on.

Ren Qian and the nurse exchanged incredulous looks. Did this lady just say she was the queen? Which one? There were only two queens in the empire: Li Feifei and Ning Yilian. This elegant woman was one of them. And she just called him “Brother Lin”!?

“Run’er, take your fiancé and this lady home. It's too cold outside, and there are many things that can’t be explained in just a few words. Better to sit down and talk at length.”

Lin Ruowan waved his hand and was first to push open the tavern’s little door.

...

Inside the warm cottage, steaming dishes were laid out on the table, and the five of them sat around the round table together.

Lin Ruowan, long ravenous, barely waited for all the dishes to be served before grabbing his chopsticks and tucking in heartily. The two bodyguards sat stiffly, faces blank, eating with cautious restraint.

Ren Qian and the nurse sat together, quietly sharing their meal, stealing glances at each other now and then.

Meanwhile, the queen kept serving Brother Lin more food, her affectionate gestures so obvious that even the nurse felt a pang of jealousy.

“In the blink of an eye, it’s been fifteen years. Feifei, you’ve become a queen yourself; your fame is truly immense now,” Lin Ruowan said at last, pushing aside his bowl, wiping his glossy lips, and smiling at Li Feifei.

“Oh, you jest. If you hadn’t left, if Lu Ye and the others hadn’t gone abroad... would the Four Kings have dominated the entertainment world? A bunch of sycophants currying favor with the big corporations, using subpar songs to pacify fans—how did they ever become kings?” Li Feifei was indignant.

Lin Ruowan fell silent with a sigh. Once, he could release any album and the streets would empty as people flocked to buy it. Yet the album he poured three years of heart and soul into was utterly ignored.

Who could understand the bitterness of releasing a creative, hope-filled record, only to have it fall into oblivion, unnoticed by all?

The contrast, before and after, was almost cruel. The entertainment company’s relentless pressure, the slander from petty rivals, and the crushing weight of public opinion—all combined to cast him as a traitor to his own roots. Blow after blow finally broke this bloodied pioneer...

Had he not left, he would surely have stood among the kings. Yet the industry’s stubbornness and corruption left him battered and scarred...

“This music scene has long been corroded by bureaucracy. They don’t sing to enrich people’s spiritual lives, but to please their superiors. Big stars flatter top officials, small stars ingratiate themselves with the big stars. That’s how imperial music has been ruined,” Lin Ruowan said bitterly. “A clique of mediocrities holding high positions, manipulating resources, steering trends into strange directions—utter madness.”

“Let’s not dwell on these old, moldy grievances, Brother Lin. The real reason I came today was to let you hear a song. At first, I thought it might awaken something in you... And even now, I still want you to listen.”

In front of Brother Lin, Li Feifei reverted to a girlish sweetness, calling him “Brother Lin” in a syrupy tone that left Ren Qian and the nurse feeling awkward. As she spoke, she took out a professional player loaded with a company demo, pressed a couple of buttons, and the prelude to “Boundless Skies” drifted softly through the room.

Within seconds, Lin Ruowan sat up straight. Another Cantonese song—and not just any, but a melodic, high-quality one. He couldn’t help but hum along with the tune.

When the song ended, he sighed with emotion.

This was a true Cantonese song—unlike those on his album fifteen years ago, which were merely attempts at setting lyrics to Cantonese without forging their own style. Lacking a distinct identity, his works had sunk without a trace, meeting a tragic end. Now, listening to this new Cantonese song, he felt as though his creative channels had been blasted open, inspiration lighting up his mind again and again.

“Truly the young surpass the old—was the lyricist and composer both a young man? A genius, no less! I must meet him. But speaking of geniuses, we have one right here—Run’er’s boyfriend’s musical talent is astonishing. Hearing my song for the first time, he could memorize it completely and improvise lyrics and performance on the spot. Even I’m beginning to wonder if I’m getting old~”

“What? Brother Lin, are you saying he improvised those lyrics just now?”

Queen Li Feifei was so astonished her jaw dropped.

Lyric-writing is a painstaking task; even great lyricists take a few days at best, sometimes ten or fifteen. Yet Run’er’s boyfriend managed to compose lyrics within minutes of first hearing the melody, and those lyrics even resonated with Lin Ruowan, prompting him to stand and applaud, finally dissolving a fifteen-year-old knot in his heart.

Wasn’t this all a bit too dramatic?

The queen had been shocked so often lately she could hardly keep her composure. As for the nurse, her pride and sense of accomplishment swelled to bursting—seeing the queen so amazed by her boyfriend’s talent, she felt supremely gratified, and was now debating whether to reveal that “Boundless Skies” was written by her boyfriend as well.

If she did, perhaps her father and the queen would be even more astounded?