Chapter 6: "Dispel Sorrow"

Inside the Starry Recording Studio, a place recommended to him by Ji Song, who claimed it was the finest studio in Star City. After the first episode of the show was filmed, the two had exchanged contact information. Whenever Zhou Ran had free time, he would consult Ji Song about music—who could resist a free music teacher? Ji Song had a good temperament, and mainly because he liked Zhou Ran, he treated him as a junior. Of course, there was another reason as well.

Whether or not the studio was truly top-tier, Zhou Ran couldn’t say, but the price was certainly steep. The total cost was nearly ten thousand, which brought Zhou Ran’s savings perilously close to zero. Thankfully, the show’s recording payment would be issued soon; otherwise, he wouldn’t even be able to afford his hotel.

Still, the expense was worth it. A good recording studio saved countless headaches—not just in sound quality, but also thanks to the professionalism of the recording team and the quality of the equipment, all of which Zhou Ran deeply appreciated. He made a mental note: if he ever became wealthy, he would set up a full recording suite at home.

This time, Zhou Ran spent five straight days in the studio, and by the time his songs were finished, it was already Friday at noon. The harvest from this recording session was immense: he completed the official versions of two songs and had already registered the copyrights. These songs were now his cash cows. In his previous life, it wasn’t unusual for a singer to earn millions each year from a single song—truly living off one hit for a lifetime.

The theme of the next episode was, put simply, “trouble.” Zhou Ran planned to perform a song by a singer he had especially loved in his previous life. His favorite line was, “A toast to freedom, a toast to death.” After experiencing this crossing between worlds, the words resonated with him even more deeply.

The show’s producers had started hyping the next episode online early, fueling the anticipation. With the addition of popular idol Xu Kun to the cast, the number of eager fans was countless. Zhou Ran intended to watch the program that night, but, perhaps from exhaustion, he fell asleep early.

On QQ, in the group “Kunkun Family 19th Group”—a name that sounded rather rustic but was in fact a genuine fan group—membership was restricted to verified Xu Kun fans, each required to have bought at least ten of his albums.

Fan economy was a formidable force; no one dared underestimate this group. “Ahhh! My idol’s show is finally airing, I’m so excited!” Wang Xi, a die-hard Xu Kun fan, would never miss her idol’s program. Before it started, she dusted off the family’s long-unused TV, set up her phone and laptop, and began watching “Who Is the King of Songs” on all three devices, just to boost the ratings. She was putting the phrase “a single spark can start a prairie fire” into literal practice.

Lying on her bed, Wang Xi watched the opening of the program, not forgetting to post “Here for Kun” in the comment barrage. If you opened the comments at this moment, you would see that seventy percent of the messages repeated that exact phrase. Truly, it was the age of traffic-driven celebrity; fans treated watching a show like a military operation—slogans coordinated, multiple devices running the program.

“Ah! Why does my idol only have 823 votes?” Wang Xi, seeing Xu Kun’s score, immediately aired her grievances in the comments, which were now awash with chaotic arguments. Savvier viewers had already turned off the barrage to protect their sanity.

“Hmm, who’s that last contestant?” Wang Xi wondered aloud, eating chips as she watched. Soon enough, she saw Zhou Ran’s appearance and was surprised. “Oh, so he’s an amateur contestant. How enviable, getting to be on a show with my idol!” Only after reading the introduction did she understand.

Wang Xi didn’t have any particular expectations for Zhou Ran’s performance; she just wanted to finish the episode to boost the completion rate. Before Zhou Ran began singing, her impression of him was simply that he was entirely unremarkable.

The performance began, and Zhou Ran’s cleverness was immediately apparent. The opening of “Sunny Day” was instantly gripping, and combined with his guitar playing, it offered viewers a fresh sensation. “The little yellow flower in the story has drifted since the year it was born...” As she listened, Wang Xi found herself drawn in. The song seemed to tell a story just like hers.

Two people walking hand in hand, the boy riding a bicycle, the girl sitting on the back—a beautiful beginning, but the story always ended in tragedy, and for various reasons, they parted ways. Yet the beauty of that beginning was hard to forget.

Wang Xi was utterly captivated by Zhou Ran’s voice, and she wasn’t the only one. The comment barrage thinned dramatically, as if everyone was entranced by his singing. After one listen, Wang Xi could already hum along, and her mood calmed.

She found herself becoming a fan of Zhou Ran. “I really like this singer... Surely my idol won’t mind?”

Compliments now floated through the comments:
“My god, is this a showstopper?”
“Where can I hear this song?”
“This amateur is the real boss?”
“Absolutely stunning!”

The staff at Mango TV were dumbfounded by the ratings. At first, the numbers fluctuated normally, but as soon as Zhou Ran performed, viewership shot straight up! Without a doubt, the program exploded in popularity, reaching a 2.4 rating, and that wasn’t even counting the online streams on Kiwi—nowadays, online views were the main measure.

On the show’s first day of broadcast, the director, Ning Wei, was keeping a close eye on the numbers. He’d expected the show to do well, but when he received the data from the TV station, he was still shocked. Was it really this big of a hit?

The headline “New Singer Zhou Ran” quickly climbed the trending topics on the nation’s most popular microblogging site. Even so, Ning Wei felt uneasy. Trending was normal, but the speed was uncanny, as if someone was deliberately boosting it. He pondered for a long time but couldn’t make sense of it; something just seemed off.

In a luxury apartment complex in Shanghai, Li Mi was astonished after watching Zhou Ran’s performance. She had never expected he had such talent—it was a complete surprise. But after thinking it over, she realized it made sense; as a trainee, he spent over ten hours a day practicing, leaving no time for songwriting. She figured she had just misjudged him. At least, in this program, Zhou Ran finally shone with his own brilliance.

On Cloud Music, the statistics for “Sunny Day” skyrocketed. In a few hours, the song’s plays exceeded a million, shooting up to eighth on the new song chart and quickly closing in on seventh place—all within less than a day of release.

While Zhou Ran was causing a stir online, he was already fast asleep in his hotel, snoring away.