Chapter Seventy-Four: Lofty Elegance and a Heap of Dog... Droppings

“I often hear people lament: ‘The works of the older generation of musicians are always so moving. And look at today’s young singers—is this really music? It’s all just senseless wailing.’ At first, I refused to accept this. But after witnessing firsthand the rehearsals of a veteran like Sun Munan, I finally understood just how deep the older generation’s obsession with music runs.

The old singers understand better than anyone the importance of experience for an artist; they know how to quiet their hearts and devote themselves to music. This is what we young singers must strive to learn!”

“But young people have their strengths too. The next song will be performed by a young female singer—let’s watch together and see what makes her shine~”

With these words, Ren Qian stepped aside from the stage. He tried to keep a low profile, but the entire stage couldn’t conceal his exceptional presence. Every time he spoke, it set off a wave of excitement, for his words not only bridged the segments but also carried his personal reflections and insights. The audience loved this touch.

Zhang Nianwei was born with a seductive charm, and her demeanor held a certain foxy allure. Because of this, legions of male fans worshipped her as their goddess. Her Weibo boasted eight million followers—nearly three-quarters of them hungry… and thirsty men.

The prelude began.

The audience’s eyes lit up as one. That flute! It was exquisite—like a lone black boat drifting among the water and sky of the southern rivers. Young lotus buds just peeping above the water, colorful carp frolicking among the white clouds, and the flute’s melody from the small boat blending with the sounds of nature, creating ripples of shimmering light across the lake.

“Whose jade flute flies in the night, scattering its song on the spring breeze through the city of Luo?” The Poet Immortal Li Bai described the beauty of the flute to perfection, which proved Ren Qian’s discerning taste in his choice of instrument.

Is there any instrument that understands the southern scenery better than the jade flute? Moonlit nights in Jiangnan, little bridges and eaves, gardens and carved beams—each is evoked in the mellow, gentle sound of that single bamboo pipe.

Amid the plaintive notes, Ren Qian clearly saw three more “expression emperors” appear in the audience. If the cameraman caught a close-up, these enraptured fans would surely go viral online.

“Spring dusk, please accompany me to the water village of my dreams~
Waving hands drifting in the mist~
Don’t wake the willow banks, those entangled memories~
Become wisps of smoke fading into the distance~”

With just a gentle opening note, Zhang Nianwei transported the audience to the Qinhuai River beneath the cloak of night, its rippling surface reflecting the moon, a songstress standing at the prow as orioles and swallows sing around her.

For a moment, the imagery was breathtaking.

“In the warm afternoon, flashes of rosy silk drift~

No one can carry away that ancient window~
A delicate youth waits on the shore for a lifetime~
Why couldn’t I become the bride you longed for?”

The rhythm was light and clear, laced with a faint melancholy. It was as if all before their eyes was but a fleeting illusion.

Behind the song, the flute played as if it were a paddle, ferrying the audience into a dreamy, mist-shrouded lotus pond.

“All my longing is written on my face~
All my sorrow carried on my shoulders~
Tears flowing down my cheeks~
All my words still left unspoken~
See the green hills swaying on the water~
See the sunset kissing the evening sun~
With all my life’s love, I search for that one home~
Where are you tonight?
Turning back to your smiling face, all my secrets are found by you~
Distant happiness in my dreams is now right by my side…”

“For no reason, I cast lotus seeds across the water,
Ashamed that someone far away knows my secret for half a day.”
Zhang Nianwei’s personality was naturally bold, with a spiciness that was flirtatious but never vulgar. In her hands, the role of the bashful maiden, half-concealed behind her pipa, unexpectedly gained a new flavor.

The song ended and the singer withdrew. The audience gave her a thunderous ovation—yet another original song they’d never heard before!

With the opening “Hidden Fragrance,” then “Chrysanthemum Terrace,” and now “Dreaming of the Water Village,” these were three high-quality, ‘quasi-classic’ Chinese-style songs in a row!

The production values of this show seemed almost excessive!

The audience couldn’t help but marvel. This was truly a trip worth making—not only had they seen big stars up close, they’d also heard a top-tier live concert performance, and might even appear on television.

“Here we go again…”

Ren Qian smiled wryly. Ever since Sha Puliang imitated his gestures, every other singer had followed suit—bowing deeply after their performance, then sincerely thanking the musicians, thanking Ren Qian, and thanking all five hundred audience members.

Why did they pick up this habit? Wasn’t it because Ren Qian’s actions were so charismatic, exuding the air of a true gentleman, a paragon of grace?

Ren Qian only smiled in silence, watching Zhang Nianwei leave the stage. Don’t be fooled by her coquettish manner and childlike voice—when she truly sang, she was meticulous, without a hint of vulgarity.

“Well, three of our contestants have now performed. We’ve seen three singers who love music, love singing, and love the stage. Now, let’s change things up a bit.”

The stage lights dimmed. Cai Chengyu appeared in a wild, punky style that left the audience stunned.

Ren Qian quickly covered his face. Damn, his worldview was shattered. How could he ever have been blind enough to pick this idiot? And to make matters worse, Director Hong insisted on signing him first…

Forget it, let’s just hope he gets eliminated quickly.

The audience, meanwhile, all wore expressions of utter bewilderment, then suddenly realized—this must be the clown the producers planted for comic relief, right?

Listen to that trash he’s singing!

Who sings with such flippant disregard?

Yet, precisely because of Cai Chengyu’s crudeness, the five hundred audience members gained a deeper appreciation for the three songs and their diverse interpretations.

His ridiculousness served as a dramatic contrast—his greatest contribution! He gave the critics a perfect target, and soon enough, envious trolls would latch onto him for their attacks, unwittingly generating yet another hot topic…

Even Ren Qian hadn’t anticipated that choosing Cai Chengyu would instantly boost the show’s buzz by several notches.

And so, the very first episode of “I Am a Singer” shot to the top of the headlines—a case of unintended consequences bearing unexpected fruit.

ps: When my throat started to hurt, I knew I’d probably be coughing for a month. I coughed for a month last winter, and the winter before that. I thought spring would be fine, so I relaxed a bit.

Then it snowed yesterday, and I was totally thrown.

Being sick makes you think too much, and looking at this book’s current state… well, it’s hard not to feel disappointed and bitter. But just now, I suddenly noticed that “Guangming asd” sent a tip. I felt quietly happy.

Even if the editor won’t give me a recommendation, I still have a few brothers supporting me every day—some throw in a dozen or so votes daily, some have tipped me quite a bit, and some regularly leave reviews. Thank you, truly.

Now I’ve got this idea: if I can’t get a recommendation, then so be it—I’ll go ahead and release the book, get the attendance bonus, even if it’s only six hundred yuan a month. At least it’ll annoy someone, right?

From today on, I’ll be a pesky little fly…