Chapter 119: "Powerless"

This time, Xu Yan had prepared an original song with her composer—a piece titled “Lament.” Although “Lament” was a new, original work for this round, there was an element of cleverness behind it. The song was actually one that Xu Yan and her composer had finished long ago—they simply had never released it. The theme for this episode of “Heavenly Voices” happened to be “Regret,” which aligned perfectly with their song. So Xu Yan and her producer immediately decided to seize this opportunity to officially present the piece. Confident in its quality, Xu Yan believed it would certainly be competitive.

As Xu Yan stepped onto the stage, a wave of applause broke out from her fans in the audience. Her manner of handling the response was worthy of her title as a young diva; with grace and poise, she accepted the encouragement and applause, ensuring to acknowledge as many audience members as possible from the outset. Xu Yan’s stage presence wasn’t accidental—she had undergone specialized etiquette training, even hiring a tutor to refine her entrance and onstage demeanor, all to leave a better first impression on viewers.

After all, much of what celebrities display in public is carefully cultivated through professional training. Only what they wish the audience to see is revealed.

The moment Xu Yan began to sing, Zhou Ran, listening backstage, was immediately captivated. Xu Yan’s voice was bright and vivid—something Zhou Ran had sensed from recordings, but which was even more striking live. Indeed, anyone who could claim the title of young diva had true talent. Xu Yan’s performance was rich with emotion; she conveyed the sorrowful theme of the song perfectly. Many in the audience, as they listened, could almost see a scene of life and death playing out before their eyes—the image of aging parents quietly passing away before one’s eyes, leaving behind only helplessness and silent lament.

As Xu Yan’s song continued, some guests in the audience who had experienced similar losses found their eyes growing red. Her voice brought back memories of their own farewells and regrets—the helplessness of watching a loved one slip away after years together, powerless to intervene.

Xu Yan’s performance masterfully expressed despair and the poignancy of regret, and the audience’s reaction left no doubt of her success. Even Zhang Yuan and Zhou Ran, watching from the lounge, nodded in approval. Regardless of personal relationships, good music deserved recognition.

Yet, despite Xu Yan’s seemingly flawless performance, Zhou Ran felt no anxiety. From a critical perspective, Xu Yan’s delivery did have its flaws. She tried a bit too hard to force the emotion onto the audience, laying all her cards on the table from the very first note—like revealing the test answers at the start of the exam. The advantage was that it made it easy for listeners to immediately share in the song’s emotion. However, this approach lacked subtlety and left little room for the imagination.

In Zhou Ran’s view, it’s important to leave a portion of the emotional landscape open for the audience. A singer only needs to express about eighty percent of the feeling; the remaining twenty percent should be left for the listeners to imagine themselves. That creates a greater sense of interaction and makes the performance more engaging.

As Zhou Ran pondered this, Xu Yan’s performance on stage came to an end. The audience rose to their feet, showering her with applause. Xu Yan’s presentation was truly impressive, and the combination of an original song with her steady vocals resulted in a near-perfect performance.

The advantage of an original song was clear: as long as the performer could deliver it well, the impact far exceeded that of a cover, making it easier for the audience to respond enthusiastically. Original songs are high-risk, high-reward—sing them well, and applause follows; fail, and criticism rains down.

Seeing the expressions of the audience, Xu Yan smiled and bowed in gratitude. Inside, she was secretly delighted; their reactions confirmed her success and justified her decision to finally share this long-held song.

For Xu Yan, achieving her goal was what mattered most—the method was unimportant. In this world, too many people care only about results, paying little attention to the process; deliver a good result, and you’ll be showered with praise and applause. But if you work hard and still fail, all your efforts are wasted, and you’ll only face harsh criticism.

Xu Yan had experienced this before, which shaped her character and changed her approach—now, she cared only for the outcome. As for whether the process was clean or not, as long as no one found out, it didn’t matter.

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