Chapter 7: World
The moment Xie Xizhao finished speaking, a sharp intake of breath echoed through the room.
That was an unbelievably bold statement.
Even the mentors looked surprised. There was no hiding the shock in Dou Yu’s eyes, while the two female judges exchanged glances, each seeing the same astonishment reflected in the other’s gaze. Even Lan Yezhou, who had been quiet the whole time, finally looked up.
A brief silence followed before Dou Yu finally spoke. “Alright.”
“I look forward to your performance,” he said.
He didn’t interact much with trainees, except for the younger ones from his own company whom he had been told to look after.
But at this moment, Xie Xizhao had fully captured his interest.
And then…
A staff member brought out a guitar.
Generally speaking, if a performance required an instrument, the trainees would bring their own.
After all, while the show’s instruments weren’t necessarily bad, they couldn’t compare to a custom-made one that fit their hands perfectly.
But this guitar—everyone in the room could see—was nothing more than a simple, unadorned folk guitar.
And this fact was quickly confirmed by Xie Xizhao himself.
A stool had already been placed on stage. He sat down and tested the feel of the instrument in his hands.
The first thing he did was use a tuner to adjust the strings.
He looked like he had absolutely no familiarity with the instrument in his hands. There was even a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
Everyone: “……”
Just moments ago, they had been struck by Xie Xizhao’s bold confidence. Now, they couldn’t help but start to doubt him.
Was he really not just here to mess around?
Xie Xizhao took a moment to experience the raw simplicity of this world’s guitar. Then, he silently mourned the high-tech, specialized, even cyber-enhanced guitars from the world he had once traveled through. Finally, he adjusted the microphone.
“I’ll sing a song I wrote myself,” he said.
His slender fingers tapped lightly on the guitar twice. Then, the opening strum rang through the air.
—
Fang Qingqing sat in the lounge, lost in thought.
This was the resting area for managers. The room was filled with familiar colleagues, and a tense atmosphere hung over them all.
Some were on their phones, making calls outside. Others were quietly discussing things in the inner room. On the lounge’s projector screen, the real-time recording of tonight’s stage played.
“Nervous?” The female manager sitting beside her, someone she was familiar with, chuckled. “I heard you’re managing a newcomer this time? Don’t worry. If they lack confidence and stage experience, it’s fine. Even if they make mistakes, they can just practice more when they go back.”
Fang Qingqing was momentarily stunned.
Then, she responded, “…Mm.”
The woman’s tone was so warm and full of concern that she didn’t know how to explain—she wasn’t worried about her artist performing poorly. She was worried that he might have another bout of low blood sugar because of the long recording time.
Besides, her artist was currently sitting in the C-position, showing no signs of insecurity whatsoever.
She kept her eyes locked on the screen, tense and focused. When she heard Xie Xizhao say that his performance wasn’t going to be a singing and dancing routine, she let out a heavy sigh of relief.
And just then, a voice, deep and rich, blended with the mellow resonance of the guitar and flowed through the speakers.
This was the kind of folk song one would hear in a small tavern.
That was the first thought everyone had after hearing just the first line.
The boy’s voice seemed to carry a kind of magic. It wasn’t an exceptionally rare or naturally stunning vocal tone—it was just slightly husky. Yet with a single phrase, he pulled everyone into a distinct and vivid scene.
In that scene, there should be a flurry of winter snow, a modest wooden cabin, a few dark wooden tables, and a young musician seated by the round stage, cradling his guitar.
He sang, “The moon falls upon the wasteland, the spaceship takes away the last gun and the paper roses.”
He sang, “The traveler from afar walks down the long highway, at the end, there are deer and a devoured sunset.”
一
He sang many things.
Scattered imagery and an eerie yet fluid melody intertwined, like a deep and surreal dream.
When the song ended, Fang Qingqing jolted awake, realizing that she had been holding her water cup the entire time—without taking a single sip.
The cup had overflowed, darkening the wooden table beneath it.
一
For three full seconds after the final note of the guitar faded, the entire venue remained utterly silent.
Ji Yan’s companion had his mouth wide open, unable to close it for a long time. Without realizing it, he grabbed Ji Yan’s hand.
That sudden tug snapped Ji Yan back to reality.
He was both shocked and proud.
He knew it. His brother was the strongest man in the universe—whatever he did, he would always excel!
Wait.
…He paused.
Why did he suddenly feel so emotional, as if he were about to cry?
Was he really getting addicted to this whole old father figure act…?
Behind him, Ai Qingyuan was still frozen, his expression dazed, unable to come back to his senses.
The long silence stretched on until Xie Xizhao couldn’t hold back any longer. He picked up the microphone and spoke first. “I’m done singing. Thank you, everyone.”
At this moment, he felt that his decision had been absolutely right.
Sitting here and playing the guitar took far less energy than a full singing and dancing performance.
The moment he spoke, Dou Yu snapped out of it.
The ever-articulate, socially adept top idol held the microphone—but, for once, he was at a loss for words.
It took him a long time before he finally said, “…That was really good.”
“It was amazing!” Li Lin, sitting beside him, immediately picked up where he left off.
Because of her pure and sweet appearance, she had always maintained a gentle, soft-spoken public persona. But in reality, she had a straightforward personality. Normally, she held back, but this time, she couldn’t help it—she had to praise him enthusiastically.
“Seriously,” she said. “This is the kind of song that would end up on my daily playlist and stay on loop for an entire day!”
Her compliment was specific and relatable, which made Xie Xizhao smile. He found her sincerity rather refreshing.
Then, his gaze shifted to the person sitting at the very edge—Lan Yezhou.
The dazed, lost look on Lan Yezhou’s face had completely disappeared. His gaze was now sharp and intense as he took the initiative to ask, “Did you write this song yourself?”
“Yes.” Xie Xizhao nodded. “I wrote both the lyrics and the music. There’s also a fully arranged version, but I felt that for a live performance, an acoustic version would have a better effect. So, I chose just the guitar.”
Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise.
These days, many artists claimed to be creative idols, but while some were truly talented, others only dabbled in the label superficially.
Generally speaking, the most basic form of music creation was lyric writing. After all, words were something everyone used daily—whether or not they were well-written was another matter.
Composing, however, required at least some knowledge of music theory. One couldn’t be completely musically illiterate.
As for arranging…
That was an entirely different level.
A melody could be created with just a guitar and a few vocal lines, but arrangement involved far more complex elements. It required solid foundational knowledge in music theory.
And even then, just knowing how to arrange music didn’t mean one could produce a great song.
By now, the light in Lan Yezhou’s eyes was practically devouring Xie Xizhao.
He said, “You—uh, what was your name again?”
Xie Xizhao: “…”
“Xie Xizhao,” he replied patiently. “Xie as in ‘unravel,’ Xi as in ‘dusk,’ and Zhao as in ‘dawn.’”
“You.” Lan Yezhou nodded firmly. “Very good. Very good.”
Xie Xizhao couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you, Teacher Lan.”
After a brief pause, he added, “I really love your song Dead Leaf Butterfly in the Rain.”
That was an obscure track—not well-known to the public, but one Lan Yezhou had once openly admitted on a radio show was one of his personal favorites.
In that instant, Xie Xizhao became his kindred spirit.
The mentors began discussing the scores, and before long, Dou Yu picked up the microphone again.
“Congratulations, trainee Xie Xizhao,” he announced. “Your initial evaluation is an A.”
Xie Xizhao was unsurprised. He smiled. “Thank you.”
He took the evaluation form, ready to leave.
Just then, Dou Yu seemed to recall something and suddenly called out to him.
“Oh, right,” he said. “We haven’t asked yet—what’s the name of this song?”
Xie Xizhao hadn’t mentioned it, and no one had asked before. Since it was an original piece, only he knew its title.
He paused for two seconds, then said, “This song is called World.”
In his eyes were the countless worlds he had walked through.
**TN
Xie Xizhao – 解 (Xie/Jie) means Unraveling, 夕 (Xi) means Dusk, 朝 (Zhao) means Dawn; Unraveling the Night and Welcoming the Morning, from darkness to light
