Chapter Seventy-Three: Sun Muran's "Chrysanthemum Terrace," the Frantic Sound of Galloping Hooves

“One minute on stage takes ten years of hard work offstage.” This saying is true; every singer understands that a song must first move oneself before it can move an audience.

Yet few would be like Senior Sha Puliang, who, unable to sleep in the middle of the night, called me just to ask how to breathe in this particular line to make it most touching.

That’s why, before his performance, I confidently declared that it was time for this venerable artist to rise from the ashes. Let us offer our warmest applause to Sha Puliang, and thank him for bringing us such a brilliant rendition.

The next song, now, is quite interesting… It also tells of a kind of flower, also describes petals falling, and is in an ancient style. Coincidentally, the singer about to perform is a veteran, just like Senior Sha Puliang. So, whose artistry will prove superior?

Let’s wait and see!

Thunderous applause erupted!

After the baptism of the first song, the audience no longer dared to be distracted. At first, a few people still surreptitiously fiddled with their phones, but now everyone sat upright, ready to savor the musical feast about to unfold.

If nothing else, just that line from Ren Qian, ‘One minute on stage, ten years of work offstage,’ filled them with shame. If singers work so tirelessly and still are not given the respect they deserve, what does that say about our manners?

So they offered their most enthusiastic applause and their best spirits to listen to the next performer.

The lights in the entire hall dimmed. Not only were the singers nervous, but even the audience’s hearts were pounding in their chests.

Why couldn’t they just skip this suspenseful moment? The waiting was almost unbearable.

The spotlight… one step… two steps… three, four, five. Sun Munan finally stood center stage, grasped the microphone tightly, saluted the band, the audience, and Ren Qian. Only then did he signal for the lights to go out and the music to begin its countdown.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Many in the audience half-rose from their seats, fists clenched, silently urging the singer to begin.

Thump… thump… thump…

After three heartbeats, the accompaniment finally began, and the audience instantly felt drained.

The violin, in this song, was almost “localized”—its timbre and the way emotion was rendered were no different from traditional Chinese instruments. Crafted from the simplest materials of nature, it drew out a sorrow that resonated with the beat of the heart.

The audience’s emotions were manipulated like salted fish.

One moment, they could breathe again; the next, their hearts leapt into their throats. Though it was the height of spring, they were drenched in sweat!

The prelude continued.

Ren Qian watched quietly from the center of the stage. This song was one of Jay Chou’s most celebrated hits.

Composed by Jay Chou, lyrics by Vincent Fang—a match made in heaven. Jay Chou’s melodies were enigmatic, Vincent Fang’s lyrics elegant; Jay’s tunes like fleeting reflections, Fang’s words like lush poems among flowers…

He entrusted this song to Sun Munan because his voice could master it, and without doubt, he would bring his own unique style to it.

Ren Qian himself loved this song, and when the show finished recording, he might even try singing it himself.

After forty seconds, Sun Munan finally sang.

“Your tears shimmer, gentle yet wounded,
A waning pale moon, hooks onto the past.
The night stretches endlessly, turning to frost…

Who is it, despairing coldly in the attic?”

With the very first note, it was as if the endless sorrow of the Tang Emperor mourning his lost beloved at the Pool of Unending Yearning was conjured.

Late autumn, deep palace, secluded courtyards, one’s beloved locked away.

All was cold and clear, all was lonely and desolate, encapsulated in that fleeting backward glance, eyes reflecting an entire garden’s autumn waters, like the brightest of tears.

On the verge of weeping, or perhaps always in tears.

Unconsciously, even the frost had settled…

Too sorrowful!

Earlier, the song “Hidden Scent” still allowed a few breaths; now, in this ancient style ballad, even the notes of guzheng and pipa were suffocating.

Especially with Sun Munan fanning the flames!

The audience’s emotions swelled to bursting. Listening to records or online versions had never been so moving. In person, the music was urgent and itchy, a painful pleasure…

Of course, the audience’s struggle was a testament to the singer’s success.

“Rain lightly taps, vermilion windows…
A life scattered on paper by the wind.
A dream in the distance turns into a wisp of fragrance,
Carried away with the wind, your likeness dissipates...”

Rain on banana leaves, closed doors, autumn wind and rain, sorrows multiplying—what made the lyrics so good was how they combined images that every Chinese person could instantly picture.

Autumn rain, red windows—just two words sketched a mournful, resentful prose poem.

And these were sung!

When Sun Munan reached this part, the audience was choked with emotion.

“Chrysanthemums scattered, pain everywhere,
Your smile has faded to yellow…
Petals fall, hearts break, my feelings quietly flow…
Northern winds swirl, the night is endless,
Your shadow cannot be cut!
Leaving me alone, paired only with my own reflection on the lake…”

Chrysanthemums scattered on the ground—even if this line seemed a bit forced for the rhyme, it didn’t matter. The depth of Chinese culture was boundless.

Ren Qian had never expected that this “Chrysanthemum Terrace” would make countless schoolchildren obsessed with the word “pain.”

Some “ancient-style” lyricists even stuffed the word “sorrow” repeatedly into the simplest of songs.

A page full of sorrow—enough to make one wince.

The expressions on the audience’s faces told it all: the climax was intense.

“Your smile has faded to yellow”—this single line created an entire scene.

Who dares try to capture the city ablaze in golden armor in a painting?

To immortalize the beloved, to freeze the glory for all time?

But even a painting yellows and fades with the years…

The north wind stirs, flowers fall, people vanish, none the wiser.

Yearning alone in a high secluded pavilion—a one-person battlefield of turmoil.

They couldn’t hold back any longer. Scattered among the audience, many men tilted their heads back.

Who would have thought? The melody so simple, looping over and over, but it was precisely this repetition, paired with heart-wrenching lyrics, that shattered their defenses.

Agony, pure agony!

End it quickly, please! The song was beautiful, but what did it look like for grown men to be weeping like this?

Ren Qian glanced over the audience, seeing right through their thoughts. This was the magic of a live performance—emotions impossible to experience at home with a mass-produced CD.

In person, every nuance in a singer’s performance was amplified a hundredfold. It broke through your emotional defenses like a virus, like a sliced onion stinging your tear ducts.

“Phew…”

A collective sigh of relief rose clearly from below.

The song had finally ended.

“Thank you to the band, thank you to Ren Qian, thank you to the five hundred listeners. This song even choked me up.”

Sun Munan waved and exited from the side. He’d once been fortunate enough to hold a concert at the Wangfujing Opera House, where the crowd was dozens of times larger than that of I Am a Singer’s studio.

Yet the feeling on stage here and there was worlds apart.

At Wangfujing, a singer performed simply for profit. But on the stage of I Am a Singer, you felt nervous, you gave your all, striving to push your limits!

He was beginning to hold Ren Qian in awe—this young man, reputedly, was the mastermind who conceived I Am a Singer.

Both Sha Puliang’s “Hidden Scent” and his own “Chrysanthemum Terrace” were composed and written by Ren Qian alone. The songs for the remaining singers, too, were the work of Ren Qian—he’d seen the rehearsals and found their quality astoundingly high!

No wonder Xu Zhiqian and Hu Yanbin had said that just taking part in the first episode was a win, because a song from Ren Qian was worth its weight in gold!

With such quality, who could afford it for less than a million or two?

These were songs that would define a singer’s career!

“I must not be eliminated, absolutely not!”

This was the cry from the depths of Sun Munan’s heart. He hadn’t given his all in this rehearsal; next time, he would fight with everything he had to claim first place!