Chapter Sixty-One: Li Xiangyu, Worthless Now

As the music gradually faded, a resounding applause erupted from Chen Nan’s section of the audience. Within this thunderous ovation, there were several moments when others seemed ready to stop, yet scattered throughout the crowd, a few persistent figures continued clapping stubbornly.

These individuals understood the kind of impact the song Lin Ze had just performed would have on the music world.

Among them was a music critic named Jiang Dasheng. He maintained two social media accounts: a main account dedicated to commercial reviews—either intentionally disparaging or excessively praising someone—and a secondary account for honest critiques. The main account had amassed hundreds of thousands of followers, while the secondary one only a meager few thousand.

As a critic, Jiang Dasheng naturally possessed a certain level of musical acumen. Hearing "East Wind Breaks," he was so moved he literally knelt on his chair to listen. Now, his thoughts spilled forth like a torrent as he furiously hammered out a review. In a moment, he would publish it from his secondary account.

…

“Before inviting everyone up, the netizens have a few questions for the members of the Village Guardians band, if you don’t mind,” the host said cheerily, stepping to center stage and glancing at Lin Ze and the group of elderly folks behind him.

“It’s fine, go ahead,” Lin Ze replied, stepping aside to let the elders come forward.

The host shot Lin Ze a friendly smile and approached Old Wang with the microphone. “We know you’re the head of the folk music troupe and only met Mr. Lin Ze last week. The two of you completed this week’s competition together. How are you feeling now?”

Facing the camera, Old Wang grew a bit nervous. “It’s… it’s been great.”

He stammered, barely managing those four words.

[Old Wang, come on, you’ve got to pull yourself together. Why so nervous now?]

[He hasn’t slept well ever since he heard about the national live broadcast. (I’m his daughter.)]

Tian Hui chuckled softly at Old Wang, then stepped up to the microphone. “Xiao Lin is a genius; there’s no doubt about that. But he’s also a very interesting young man. When he’s with us old folks, there are no barriers between us.”

“That’s… that’s right,” Old Wang agreed earnestly, nodding.

“So, if—just if—in the upcoming voting round, ‘East Wind Breaks’ loses to ‘Sichuan Rivers and Mountains,’ will you all be disappointed?”

Old Wang glanced at Lin Ze, recalling how Lin Ze had promised something big. He hadn’t believed it then, but today, Old Wang was thoroughly impressed.

He looked into the camera, took a deep breath, and said, “To be honest, we didn’t come here to win from the start. We just wanted to take part, play some music together. When Xiao Lin said he’d get us in on something big, I didn’t believe it.”

“But today I do. I want to send Xiao Lin a phrase that’s really popular online right now!”

“Xiao Lin, awesome!”

Goosebumps rose on Lin Ze’s arms; standing at the front of the stage, he smacked his forehead. Well, at least the old man knows what ‘awesome’ means.

“Even if we lose, it doesn’t matter. Just this experience alone will give us stories to share for a lifetime,” Old Wang said, looking at Lin Ze with sincere, grateful eyes.

“Wonderful!” The host applauded with one hand while holding the microphone with the other. “Let’s give another round of applause to these uncles and aunties!”

[This is fantastic. When I’m old, I want to do the same—gather a group of buddies and pull off something big.]

[Hope my friends and I can still pull all-nighters at an internet café when we’re old.]

[+1 to the comment above, but I hope we’ll have a leader like Lin Ze to guide us.]

Amidst the applause, the other three teams joined them onstage. The stage, already not very large, now felt crowded.

“Now, everyone, we’ve reached our final segment. This vote will determine who represents Tong County’s Arts Troupe!”

“Three! Two! One! Voting… begins!”

The audience, ready and waiting, began casting their votes.

Standing at the front of the Village Guardians, Lin Ze waved toward the camera. He told himself it didn’t matter, but it would still be nice to win—to finish strong.

At some point, Su Zitan had slipped onstage from the wings, took Lin Ze’s hand, and whispered in his ear, “My dad just called. He and my mom, as well as your parents, are all watching the live broadcast right now.”

“Really?” Lin Ze was taken aback.

Taking advantage of her turned head, he planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Hey! I told you they’re watching!” she protested.

“Heh heh…”

“Three, two, one!”

The voting channel closed.

The big screen behind them began to shift.

“The final results will be combined with the previous round’s votes. The team with the highest total wins.”

“Fourth place: Tongyin Team! Five thousand and twelve votes!”

“Third place: Sunshine Kindergarten Team! Five thousand five hundred and one votes!”

The members of these teams seemed to have expected their rankings and were satisfied with over five thousand votes supporting them.

“Now, the usual question: would you prefer I announce second or first place first?” the host asked, listening to the audience’s shouts before nodding seriously. “I hear you—everyone wants first, so…”

“Second place: Tongyin’s Li Xiangyu! Two hundred fifty-eight thousand one hundred and five votes!”

Beside him, Li Xiangyu trembled slightly. His face showed a mix of disappointment, relief, and even a glimmer of hope.

In the office, Zhang Huai slammed his desk. “How were the votes forged?”

His secretary hurriedly typed a query; the reply came quickly. “Fifty thousand votes all accounted for, not a single one missing.”

Zhang Huai’s face darkened immediately. That Li Xiangyu—he’d promised to stick to his old style of dance and song, but at the last minute changed it up, using choreography from a student in Tongyin instead. If the effect hadn’t been decent, Zhang Huai would have sent him packing on the spot.

But the difference between decent and outstanding is razor-thin.

“Li Xiangyu’s popularity is already waning. Other than reinventing himself, there’s no other path,” Zhang Huai said coldly. “If he had handled this well, I might have given him another chance. But no, he just had to change the song. Hmph…”

The secretary listened in silence, not daring to say a word.

A few more shows to make some money, and then Li Xiangyu would be left to languish on the sidelines. That was the usual practice at Donghuang Entertainment.

“That Xu Shenshen is promising. He’s already at the top in the ‘Creation Factory.’ Get in touch with him. If all goes well in a few episodes, sign him.”

“A basketball trainee—now that’s a great gimmick.”