Chapter 79: "A Triumphant Path in Film, Television, and Music."

As Zhou Ran returned to his seat after receiving the Best Album Award, the Huayu Golden Melody Awards ceremony was gradually drawing to its close. The awards yet to be presented were all highly coveted honors—Best Male and Female Singer, Song of the Year, and so on.

There was also the Lifetime Achievement Award, but that, for now, had nothing to do with Zhou Ran. Even if he wanted that one, he’d have to wait another fifty or sixty years. Besides, it was far too soon to consider such things.

Once Zhou Ran was back in his seat, the ceremony didn’t immediately continue with the awards; instead, there was a short intermission, seemingly arranged by the organizers so everyone could relax for a moment.

The guest performer for this interlude was an old acquaintance of Zhou Ran’s: Teacher Chen Yi. Chen Yi was practically a fixture at the Huayu Golden Melody Awards—he’d begun receiving nominations as early as the third year the event was held.

Moreover, Chen Yi had a good relationship with the awards organizers, having collaborated with them several times in the past, always to mutual satisfaction. This time, they’d given him the intermission slot to perform and boost his exposure.

After all, Chen Yi had only recently returned to the scene and was in need of more visibility to keep his name in the public eye. Many singers are reliant on exposure, unless they’ve already reached the absolute top tier. For anyone not at that level, maintaining popularity requires a constant presence.

No matter how beautiful your music, if no one hears it, it’s as if it’s no good at all. As the saying goes, “Good wine needs no bush,” but even the finest wine can be lost if the alley is too deep.

Every year, thousands upon thousands of new songs flood the Chinese music scene. Who knows how many true gems are buried among them, only to be unearthed years later by chance? To avoid being overlooked, a singer must seize every opportunity for exposure, ensuring their work reaches listeners as soon as possible.

As Chen Yi began his performance, the audience broke into warm applause—a gesture of respect for him. Many in the crowd had, after all, grown up with his music. For them, Chen Yi was a shared memory of their childhood.

A number of people even sang along as he performed.

Meanwhile, as Chen Yi sang, Zhou Ran’s phone, left on the table, lit up with a new message. It was from Zhang Yuan, a friend he’d made during “Who Is the King of Singers.”

“So, how does our little King Ran feel right now?” the message read.

“Oh, Yuan-jie, there’s no need for such formality between us,” Zhou Ran replied. “This isn’t our first time talking, and calling me ‘little King Ran’ just makes me feel awkward.”

Since finishing “Who Is the King of Singers,” Zhou Ran had kept in touch with some of the other contestants. The experience had been precious and memorable for him. Zhang Yuan was one of those he chatted with from time to time, trading gossip and news—their friendship had become quite solid.

Zhang Yuan’s reason for messaging Zhou Ran was obvious. She was nervous, and had come seeking a little distraction.

By a twist of fate, Zhang Yuan had been nominated for Best Female Singer at this year’s Huayu Golden Melody Awards. The next award to be presented was, in fact, Best Female Singer.

So Zhang Yuan was understandably jittery, and chatting with Zhou Ran was a way to calm her nerves.

To be honest, Zhang Yuan’s credentials and achievements weren’t quite at the level where she could normally expect to win Best Female Singer. That’s why Zhou Ran had described her nomination as a stroke of luck.

This year had been unusual: several top female singers in the industry had stepped away at the same time to start families, dramatically reducing the competition for the award. Zhang Yuan, who had released an album that was well received, found herself nominated—chosen as the tallest among the shorter candidates, so to speak.

It was a situation without precedent; this was simply a special year.

In truth, Zhang Yuan’s anticipation outweighed her anxiety. She knew her chances of actually winning were slim. Still, dreams are what keep people going. Having been nominated for Best Female Singer was already a reward in itself; winning would be a miracle, but the nomination alone was worth it.

Had it not been for this year’s unique circumstances, it would have taken her several more years to even be considered for such an honor. Alternatively, she’d have needed some extraordinary stroke of luck—like writing a breakout hit album, not just a single song, but an entire record, as Zhou Ran had done.

This was also what worried Ji Song: Would Zhou Ran be considered for Best Singer, or would he be passed over due to insufficient seniority, receiving only a consolation nomination? The rules for Best Male Singer were the same as those for Best Female Singer, so it was entirely possible Zhou Ran wouldn’t win this year, but would be awarded in the future once he’d accumulated more experience.

But all the worrying in the world wouldn’t change anything—only when the results were announced would everyone be able to breathe easy.

Before long, Chen Yi’s performance concluded, and the evening moved on to its most anticipated moment: the final awards.

The first to be presented was the one Zhang Yuan so eagerly awaited—the Best Female Singer Award.

It was to be presented by last year’s winner, Bai Yufei—a legendary figure who had transitioned from the film industry to the music world, achieving great success in both. In film, she’d even been nominated for an international Best Actress award. After switching to music, it had taken her just three or four years to win Best Female Singer at the Huayu Golden Melody Awards. She was, without doubt, a true all-rounder.

Zhou Ran admired people like her deeply. His own goal was to develop a career that spanned film, television, and music alike.