Chapter 231: The Concert
For the future queen of pop, the successor to the Mandopop throne, Zhou Shilan’s fame in the country was second to none. Throughout the entire Asian region, her fame was constant, especially in Japan and Korea where she was highly sought after. As the older generation of singers in the music world aged and prepared to retire from the entertainment industry, she was destined to be the future successor. Perhaps in just ten years—no, not even ten, just four or five—she would become the sole star of the music scene.
She was only twenty-five this year, with plenty of opportunity and youth on her side.
Today, her concert officially opened. As the queen of the music world, tickets were in high demand. The scalper market had driven prices to astronomical heights, yet fans were still willing to buy, a testament to her popularity. Her status could not be described as merely A-list; she was on a super A-list level.
The concert was held in Hangzhou, not for any particular reason, but simply because she had to do promotions there. Previously, Zhou Silan had agreed to appear at a commercial event in Hangzhou, but in order to write songs and hold a concert, she had wanted to back out. The investors had pleaded with her to stay, promising to give her the event venue for her concert. And so, Zhou Silan had agreed.
The concert officially began. The venue was packed to the brim with a full house of spectators. They screamed wildly, waving their light sticks, and shouting at the top of their lungs, offering their most frenzied voices to their idol.
Zhou Silan spent some time preparing in the dressing room. Even before stepping out from behind the stage, she could hear the roar of the audience outside. She couldn’t help but feel a daze, reminiscing about when she was sixteen. A young girl, unsure of her future, who even had trouble eating, had abandoned her studies to fight for a place in the entertainment industry. Now, ten years had passed, and she had become a big shot in the industry. Who could have imagined her past?
She shook her head, stood up, and walked onto the stage. The shouts of the audience below, the colors on the screen, the glare of the spotlights—everything was so beautiful. She remembered her first concert. It was far worse than this. She had borrowed a school playground to hold it, and most of the attendees were local students, numbering less than fifty. There were no spotlights or cameras back then. Now, there were probably close to a thousand people in the venue alone.
“Thank you all for coming to my concert. Today, I will use my voice to repay your anticipation.”
She held the microphone, cleared her throat, and prepared to sing. This was a song she had written in seclusion. After nearly a year without creative inspiration, she had finally written her best song of the year. She had been stuck, frustrated by her creative block. Now, it was time to break through.
“I too want to return to the times of my youth, so beautiful, so happy.
I still remember the summer, the fifty-cent popsicle, split in two, one for you and one for me.
I still remember the winter, the scarf you bought last year, you gave it to me.
I still remember the spring, we studied together, we improved together.
I still remember the autumn, you slipped money through the crack in my door.
I remember so much, and I’ve always wanted to say to you, thank you.
But do you remember? Do you still remember? Do you remember my name?
You were, in my heart, my most precious friend.
But you didn’t take it seriously. I once trusted you so much, I once thought I could walk with you forever. In the end, I discovered that the place you wanted to go, I could not follow.
Another summer has passed. The days without you, I’ve grown accustomed to them. I am grateful for your companionship, grateful for the time with you. Thank you.
If you have forgotten me, then don’t look back. I just want to say thank you.
I don’t need you to tell me again, ‘I miss you.’ Because all I have left for you is gratitude…
Thank you.”
The song was titled “Thank You,” a sequel of sorts to “The Times You’ve Forgotten.” The perspective shifted to the other protagonist, clearly expressing a response to that friend. She would not regret, would not look back, but she would say thank you.
Nangong Ying was in the audience, listening to her sing. For some reason, an ugly expression crossed her face, but it was only for an instant. She realized that this song by Zhou Shilan was aimed at her.
Or rather, these were Yu Linna’s true feelings.
It was impossible to know why Zhou Silan would write such a song, but she knew that Yu Linna’s answer was clear. She would not turn back, nor would she accept it, but she would cherish the past. At the same time, she would also forget the past.
Nangong Ying felt her confidence waver. This song exposed her shame, brought to light the very thing she most wanted to hide.
She had been numbing herself, but while she could numb her body, could she numb her heart?
She felt so disgraced.
Zhou Silan was still singing on stage. After finishing one song, she had another. After all, she couldn’t just sing one song at a concert. But compared to the opening song “Thank You,” it wasn’t as stunning, though it was equally brilliant. People said she was worthy of being the future queen of pop, her singing level already reaching that of her predecessors. Although she had yet to cross the heights her predecessors had reached, everyone firmly believed it was only a matter of time.
…
After the concert, as arranged by the investors and the company, a press conference was held. Zhou Silan couldn’t refuse and had to face the reporters. The venue was filled with them, cameras constantly pointed at her. Many reporters were waiting, ready to ask questions the moment she appeared. This superstar, after a year’s silence, had once again produced a high-caliber song, a slap in the face to the rumors of her decline.
“Sister Zhou, in the past, your songs were mostly about love or were pop music. Why did you change your style today and sing such a sad song?” a young reporter asked first. In this circle, Zhou Silan was considered a senior. Younger juniors had to call her Sister Zhou or Senior. Reporters, of course, couldn’t call her Senior, but Sister Zhou was an acceptable title.
“I wouldn’t say I changed my style. To me, this song is still the same as before. I just sang it at the right time. I sang about love before because at that age, I longed for love. Now I sing about the past because I also want to reminisce. You all know, I started singing at sixteen. In ten years, there are many things I miss.”
The reporter was silent for a moment.
That’s right.
It had been almost ten years since Zhou Silan entered the entertainment industry. From an unknown nobody, she had reached her current position. Everyone had subconsciously forgotten that Queen Zhou had entered the industry at a very young age. This year, she was twenty-five.
“Miss Shilan, could you tell us the source of inspiration for this song you wrote?” an older reporter asked.
“The inspiration came from a little girl. I met her by chance once, and I found a story in her. I learned about the sadness this girl carried, and she turned her story into a song and wrote it out.”
“Can you reveal who the girl who served as the prototype is?”
“I can’t do that. It’s a trade secret.”
“You previously wrote a song for the Four-Leaf Clover band… no, for Nangong Ying, ‘The Times You’ve Forgotten.’ Is the prototype the same?”
“Yes, the same.”
“What was the reason you were willing to give this song to Nangong Ying for free?”
“Fate, I suppose. I liked her, and I thought she could sing it well.”
The reporters whispered among themselves. What fate? It’s all just talk. If fate were really a thing, what would be the point of them being in the entertainment industry?
But since Zhou Silan was unwilling to reveal it, they couldn’t press the issue.
The press conference had a limited time. After answering a few questions, Zhou Silan promptly said that time was up and left early. No matter when, dealing with reporters was always a hassle.
…
Nangong Ying’s expression backstage was not good. She had stayed inside the whole time, not coming out. Although today’s events had nothing to do with her, she still felt a sense of guilt. She had only come to watch a concert, but it had made her feel like a criminal.
Zhou Silan walked in and saw Nangong Ying. Her face was clearly off. Unlike her usual composure, her eyes revealed a nervousness. Still too young, not enough experience, Zhou Silan sighed inwardly.
“Senior, this song… who was it sung for?” she finally calmed down and asked casually, acting as if nothing was wrong.
“Who I sang it for? You know very well, don’t you?”
“…”
Nangong Ying’s hand clenched tighter, her expression strange. She wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
Zhou Silan seemed to have no intention of pursuing the topic. She prepared to leave. As she passed by Nangong Ying, she said another sentence.
“Actually, you don’t have to worry about anything. I’m not going to say everything. And in this circle, how many people can emerge from the mud unstained? To be honest, no one expects you to come in clean and leave spotless. After all, you’re not a saint.”
After saying that, she left.
Did Zhou Silan have the right to say this?
Of course, she did.
She had ten years of experience in the entertainment industry. She had the right to say such words. And she knew very well how messy this circle was. To expect everyone to remain clean—how could that be possible? Even she herself would do some shady things in private, such as pulling strings for others, or giving gifts to investors when she wasn’t famous in her early years. She wasn’t a stranger to such things. She was considered relatively lucky; she had never been involved in the casting couch.
To reach her position today without some cunning would be impossible.
Nangong Ying would be successful. She believed that. It was just that this success had come too quickly. Nangong needed time to digest it.
…
Yu Linna watched the concert live stream at home. After it was over, she had no particular thoughts and went back to work. These days, she had re-entered a high-intensity work mode, without any ambiguity. Compared to her neighbor’s slacking, she was truly diligent. Chen Xi had asked her several times if she wanted to take a vacation, but she had always replied that she didn’t need one.
Because of her hard work, she had finished the third volume of Zixuan and the Paper Airplane ahead of schedule, when it was supposed to be finished in September. Then she started drawing the illustrations. She planned to publish two volumes next month.
But excessive hard work was sometimes not a good thing. After burning the midnight oil for so many days, not cherishing her body, Yu Linna finally fell ill. She had to stop work for a few days. Because she lived alone and had no parents, Chen Xi had no choice but to ask Zhao Yuyan to take care of her.
“I mean, why are you working so hard? You’re given the chance to rest, but you don’t. You insist on pushing yourself like this. What are you after? You have money now, you have status. What more do you want?”
Zhao Yuyan sighed and gave her medicine.
Yu Linna’s face was flushed. Lying in bed, her frail appearance was heart-wrenching to see. Even Zhao Yuyan felt it was time for this girl to take a vacation.
