Volume One, Chapter Three: The Catastrophic Scene of Despair!

Even Su Le was a little surprised; he hadn’t expected the girl to grasp the essence and spirit of the song so quickly. A piece originally written for Song Hongyan sounded even more ethereal and moving when sung by this girl.

“The melody, the lyrics of this song… they’re so beautiful!”

“Mr. Su, may I have this song? I promise, I’ll make sure it doesn’t go unnoticed!”

“I’m about to participate in the auditions too. I beg you, please let me have it?” The ponytail girl was brimming with excitement and longing.

“If you need it, of course you can have it,” Su Le replied with a smile. After all, they were all artists under Oriental Group, and the girl fit the song perfectly.

His goal was simple: to bring all the music and memories from his previous life into this world. He wanted to dominate the entertainment industry and become a godfather in the field.

Two hours later.

Su Le and the ponytail girl, Ren Yingying, arrived at the audition venue—the square beneath the Oriental Group’s headquarters. A crowd of over ten thousand had already gathered.

Chen Tianxiong was also present. When Su Le and Ren Yingying arrived, Song Hongyan, still wearing her mask, had just stepped off the stage, apparently having received an impressive score. Breaking through the auditions would be no problem for her.

Song Hongyan was surprised to see Su Le and Ren Yingying.

“Mr. Su, I’m so sorry. The audition time was moved up unexpectedly, so I could only perform with my previous song,” she apologized sincerely.

“It’s alright… Miss Yingying has already chosen this song,” Su Le replied, pushing Ren Yingying’s wheelchair. On the way here, he’d explained the meaning behind the lyrics to her, helping her to grasp its deeper essence more quickly. This only deepened Ren Yingying’s admiration for Su Le. The song, both in lyrics and melody, was filled with profound meaning.

“Oh? Is that so? That’s wonderful. At least your efforts weren’t in vain, Mr. Su!”

“Yingying, I look forward to your performance. Give it your best,” Song Hongyan said, waving and smiling.

“Yes, I will!” Ren Yingying nodded firmly.

Just then, a burst of excited shouts erupted from the crowd. A woman with a graceful figure, wearing a white fox mask, appeared on the stage, and a melodious song began to play. The audience below started chanting loudly.

“Yao Yao, Yao Yao!”

“Goddess!”

“Goddess Yao Yao, I love you!”

In an instant, all eyes were on the stage.

Su Le’s heart trembled as he caught sight of a familiar figure. Even with the mask, he recognized her. The white fox mask was Lu Yaoyao’s signature for the auditions.

She sang a song with a grand and powerful style, clearly chosen to challenge the foreign singers in “I Am a Singer.”

When her song ended, the applause from her fans lasted long before dying down—her popularity was through the roof.

In that moment, she was the center of attention.

Su Le’s lips curled into a smile as he watched. She had proven herself once again. At least this moment was worth it. After the divorce, she shone even brighter.

When the judges gave her an 8.5, Lu Yaoyao had successfully broken through the competition. But as he watched her step off the stage and hug a young man, the smile vanished from Su Le’s face, replaced by a bitter sorrow.

He lowered his head.

At that moment, a female singer from England took the stage. With an English song, she unleashed the full power of her soaring voice. The entire venue fell silent. During the high notes, she switched to an a cappella section—her clear voice cutting through the air with breathtaking intensity.

The sharp contrast between her gentle and powerful moments left the hall so quiet you could hear a pin drop. The judges gave her a stunning score of 9.0.

Murmurs broke out among the crowd.

“Sigh, we’re getting crushed in the auditions. If this is the standard, the finals will be a massacre.”

“It’s too tragic, simply devastating.”

“Is there no hope left for Chinese pop music?”

“These songs are garbage!”

“All we get are formulaic tracks and plagiarized tunes. After all the greats of the Chinese music scene faded, the industry has been overrun by hacks and charlatans.”

“It’s a disgrace, letting foreign singers dominate us on our own turf…”

“It’s just as bad as our national football team.”

“No, it’s even worse. At least the footballers know their own limits!”

The audience below was full of complaints and scorn. Even the passion ignited by Lu Yaoyao’s high score had cooled.

On the livestream, the chat was flooded with bleak messages—words like “the fall of Chinese music” flashing in bold red.

It was then, after a moment of silence, that the host’s voice rang out.

“Next, please welcome Ren Yingying, an artist from Oriental Entertainment Group!”

“She will be performing a song titled ‘Big Fish!’”

As the host finished speaking, Ren Yingying was gripped by overwhelming nerves.

“Brother Su, could you… could you go on stage with me?” Her voice trembled with anxiety. The pressure was immense. The previous singer—the foreigner—had just scored a 9.0! If she went up and her score lagged too far behind, she would be torn apart online.

How unlucky could she be?

But Su Le only smiled calmly and produced two masks.

“Don’t be nervous, I’ll go with you!”

Inside, Su Le was excited and exhilarated, not the least bit afraid. He had crossed worlds with memories from his past life—how could he let foreign songs dominate in the Dragon Kingdom?

The Chinese music scene had suffered humiliation for over a month. From this moment on, Su Le would change that.

“Thank you, Brother Su, you’re the best!” Ren Yingying beamed.

They both donned their masks, and Su Le pushed her toward the stage.

“Yingying, don’t be nervous, don’t be afraid! We’re all here for you!” Song Hongyan waved.

Chen Tianxiong also stepped over. “Don’t feel too much pressure, just perform as you normally do. Honestly, we’re all in the same boat…” His words lacked conviction, underlining just how dire the situation was for Chinese music.

Su Le pushed Ren Yingying onto the stage. Because of the masks, they could only communicate with their eyes. Su Le stood behind her.

“Close your eyes. Feel the wind. Empty your mind. Don’t force your voice with technique,” he whispered gently in her ear. “The highest realm of this song is to sing from your heart, not just your voice.”

“Got it, Brother Su! I’m not nervous!” Ren Yingying replied, but she forgot to turn off her mic, so her words echoed through the venue.

Her declaration—“I’m not nervous”—instantly had the audience roaring with laughter. The livestream chat was filled with ridicule.

Then, the music began.

The crowd gradually quieted. The spotlight shone on Ren Yingying, leaving Su Le in the shadows—completely overlooked.

She began to sing, but nerves made her voice tremble. Then Su Le’s hand settled reassuringly on her shoulder, and her voice grew steadier. She closed her eyes, feeling the wind on her face, letting her song flow with it.

As the music drifted out, the entire scene seemed to come alive. The stage lights softened, focusing on Ren Yingying’s silhouette, while Su Le remained a silent guardian in the dark.

Laughter and chatter faded, replaced by an enveloping tranquility. Everyone’s hearts were drawn to the magic about to unfold on stage.

When Ren Yingying’s voice finally rang out—initially shaky from nerves, but growing in strength and rhythm under Su Le’s gentle guidance—she closed her eyes, as if truly standing by the sea, the evening breeze on her cheeks, listening to the waves whisper beneath the night sky.

Her voice carried the softness and depth of night.

With each lyric, “The silent waves drown out the night,” the audience could almost see the ink-black sea swallowing the horizon, stars vanishing, leaving only a vast, mysterious expanse. The boundary between sea and sky blurred, evoking a sense of infinite, enigmatic space.

“When the waves flood the furthest corner of the sky,” the lyrics conjured images of the sea overflowing the heavens—a beauty beyond reality.

“A big fish swims through the seams of dreams”—in their minds, listeners saw a giant, elusive fish gliding at the edge of illusion and reality, embodying a freedom that transcends the mundane.

As the song continued, “See the colors of the sea and sky, hear the wind and falling rain,” the stage lights swelled and shifted, mimicking the wildness of nature.

“Hand in hand, we scatter the misty waves,” spoke to deep companionship and weathering storms together.

“The big fish’s wings are already too vast; I release the rope of time,” was not just a yearning for freedom, but an understanding of letting go and growing up, filled with complex emotions—reluctance to let the other go too far, fear of their staying behind, capturing inner struggles and sorrow.

The performance was more than a rendition of “Big Fish”—it was a journey of the soul. The audience was swept into a world beyond reality, carried by song and music through a dreamscape of courage, love, and letting go.

Both on and off the stage, everyone was moved by the depth and philosophy of the performance. Each note was like a wave lapping gently but inexorably at the shore.

The live chat scrolled to a halt—everyone watching, eyes closed, lost in the melody of “Big Fish.”

But just then—

Ren Yingying’s voice broke off abruptly.

Because of the rushed preparation, she forgot a line. She fell behind the beat, unable to recover and finish the song properly. The timing was off—the performance had crashed in spectacular fashion.

Ren Yingying was so nervous she opened her mouth but forgot how to breathe, her mind blank.

The audience opened their eyes, faces filled with disappointment. The livestream viewers erupted into criticism. Even the judges shook their heads.

This song, so beautiful and meaningful, had been ruined by the mishap, shattering the perfect atmosphere.

Ren Yingying was on the verge of a breakdown.