Superstar Ch.105

Chapter 105: tu me manques

The moment this post went up, it immediately drew a flood of replies.

1L: Whoa, whoa, calm down, OP! Let’s not get ahead of ourselves!

2L: Song of the Year??? TP fans are getting that delusional already? What rookie boy group lands a Song of the Year straight out of the gate?

3L: No, but… OP might be a little too hyped, but I don’t think they’re wrong.

Just go watch it. You’ll understand. It’s genuinely an amazing song, an amazing production. It’s been a long time since we’ve had an idol track of this quality. I’m just… kind of in awe right now.

As the replies in the thread became increasingly supportive, more and more bystanders—who had originally just come for the drama—started clicking on the direct link to the MV out of sheer curiosity.

—

Tang Si, known online as “Basi Tang.”

Fan Affiliation: A devoted fan of the group Newstar.

She passionately shipped CPs and firmly believed that her favorite ship—specifically Feng Hua and Xue Li—was real. Recently, her favorite person was Xue Zixiao, and the person she disliked the most was an entire boy band called The Phoenix (yes, the whole group).

When Tang Si came across a trending forum post, she had just finished a heated argument with a TP fan.

She called the other person a newbie fan who followed their idol’s arrogance and lack of skill. The other person called her group’s idol a low-quality, queerbaiting, marketing-driven band. She retorted that TP couldn’t even win a visual ranking poll, yet they dared to dream about getting first place. The other person repeated that NS was a low-quality, queerbaiting, marketing-driven band. She declared that NS’s comeback was the greatest of all, and though there was only a small gap between rank three and rank two, no one could predict the winner. The other person, once again, repeated: low-quality, queerbaiting, marketing-driven band.

…Tang Si was utterly defeated by the human tape recorder.

She unleashed a string of curses before blocking them outright. But that mocking tone lingered in her mind, refusing to fade. It was at that moment that she stumbled upon the forum post.

A memory she had desperately tried to forget came surging back.

Her mouse froze in place.

She gritted her teeth.

Weren’t they all idols? Weren’t they all at the bottom rung of the entertainment industry hierarchy? She had no idea where TP fans got their arrogance from.

Fine. They mocked her idol for producing low-quality work?

Then she was going to see for herself—what kind of so-called high-quality masterpiece this TP fandom boasted about.

With that thought, she clicked on the link with almost vengeful determination.

The webpage loaded quickly. Holding her cup of water, she began plotting which angles to use for her critique.

A few seconds later, the page finished loading, and she saw the paused cover image.

Tang Si’s train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

“……”

She had opened a highly popular official video platform, where every artist had to upload a cover image when releasing new content—typically a photo of themselves.

The artist The Phoenix had chosen for their cover was Xie Xizhao.

This was the first time Tang Si had seriously looked at the so-called “rising star” of the idol competition scene.

On the screen, the young man wore a thin, champagne-colored silk shirt, its hem neatly tucked into white trousers. The fabric lightly traced the contours of his slender waist, revealing the faint outlines of toned abs.

Above the waist, two buttons of his shirt were undone, leaving the delicate fabric looking impossibly soft.

And resting against that softness was a face veiled in silk.

The silk band was gold—neither too wide nor too narrow—just enough to cover his eyes.

Below it, a sharp, well-defined nose and beautifully shaped, soft lips came into view.

He stood with his back to the light, a dazzling golden glow radiating behind him. The lighting enhanced the translucency of his clothing, making his skin appear even smoother, even fairer.

The moment she saw him, a phrase suddenly surfaced in Tang Si’s mind—

Sensual and breathtaking.

Tang Si: “……”

What the hell!

She quickly shook her head, forcing herself to shut down that nearly traitorous thought.

She took a second look.

…Alright.

Tang Si begrudgingly admitted—

This guy did look pretty good.

Compared to her Brother Zixiao …

Forget it.

No comparisons!

She ruthlessly stamped out the thought before it could take root. Almost in a panic, she hurriedly hit play. The screen paused for a brief moment, then faded to black. After a short transition, the video gradually brightened.

Tang Si stared intently at the screen and made out a structure resembling a temple.

Mythological theme?

She recalled the TP poster she had come across earlier.

The setting and lighting in the cover image also had a dreamy, sacred quality. Even the young man’s expression—though it was just a still image—conveyed an almost sorrowful compassion.

…Wait, no.

Then why had her first reaction been sensual and breathtaking?

Something felt off, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Frustrated, she briefly scolded herself for having impure thoughts and continued watching. As she did, she absentmindedly turned on the live comments.

In an instant, the screen was flooded with scrolling text.

[Ahhh, one more time!]

[The place where dreams begin—watching again to appreciate this masterpiece and TP’s collective beauty, hahaha!]

[First watch: stunned. Second watch: understood. Third watch: ACTION!]

Tang Si: “……”

Exaggerated.

She wanted to turn them off, but she wasn’t used to watching videos without comments. In the end, she simply tried her best to ignore the over-the-top praise and kept her eyes on the screen.

In that brief moment of distraction, the camera had already shifted—from the temple to the vast ocean beside it.

A boundless expanse of deep blue stretched across the screen.

It was sunset. Seagulls circled above the water, their cries sharp and clear.

Waves crashed against jagged rocks, and beyond them lay a broad stretch of land—where the temple from the first shot now appeared in full view.

The temple was ancient, its walls worn down by time, covered in the marks of decay.

The warm, golden hues of dusk draped over everything in the frame, casting a tranquil, sacred stillness across the scene.

At that moment, Tang Si suddenly thought she heard something.

She froze, pressing her headphones closer.

Then, she realized—someone was speaking. A deep male voice, low and subdued.

At the same time, the live comments popped up:

[Warning: Major moment ahead—Zhaobao’s low voice incoming]

[Newcomers, don’t adjust your volume! This part is intentionally soft—it’s an Italian prayer. The translation is already posted in the fan forum, go check it out!]

Tang Si: “……”

There was no way in hell she was going to their fan forum.

So, she had no choice but to listen carefully.

She had to admit, though—it was a breathtaking voice.

His vocal tone wasn’t particularly unique, yet it carried an undeniable appeal. It was soothing in a way that made her instinctively lean in.

Tang Si was a broadcasting major, and to her, most idol narrations were just that—reading words aloud, nothing artistic about it.

But this wasn’t that.

Even without the live comments, she could tell it was a prayer. She had no idea how someone could convey “devotion” with nothing but their voice, yet he did. The low murmuring, the slow, steady cadence, paired with the barely-there background score—it sent chills down her spine.

And as the voice carried on, the visuals shifted.

The sun dipped below the distant horizon, its golden light fading into nothingness. Wandering clouds melted into the deepening twilight. The sky darkened, and the world sank into night.

The moment the screen went completely dark, the prayer ceased.

Then came a soft sigh.

“Tu me manques.”

The voice in her ear spoke.

It was still calm, yet Tang Si could hear a boundless sense of longing within those words.

It was the only sentence she understood.

It was French.

“Tu me manques.”

I miss you.

A strange feeling surged in her chest, as if something had reached into the softest part of her heart and pressed down. But before she could process it, the instrumental accompaniment suddenly burst into her ears.

The verse had begun.

It started with a flowing piano melody.

The sensation was difficult to describe—notes cascaded into her ears, completely occupying her mind. The smooth piano harmonized with other instruments, weaving a light yet dynamic rhythm.

Tang Si had listened to countless idol songs before, but this was the first time a verse had sent a shiver down her spine.

The reason was simple—it was just that catchy.

In today’s music industry, there were countless ways a song could be bad—off-key melodies, jarring transitions, mindless repetition of the same phrases. But a good song? That was easy.

A beautiful melody, paired with a rich, fitting vocal.

The introduction was sung by a young boy. Tang Si could tell he wasn’t very old—his voice had only just passed through puberty.

But his tone was distinct. There was a youthful tenderness to it, yet it carried a husky depth, like a fresh sprout growing from the roots of an ancient tree.

Then, she heard him sing:

“Hour and minute hands spin, shadows flicker in an instant.

In the cracks of time, God opens his eyes—

A light-year in a second.”

The introduction had been mysterious and enigmatic, but once the verse truly began, the melody settled into a style everyone was familiar with.

The tempo was fast, carrying the same light and whimsical yet eerie energy as the piano intro.

At the same time, the visuals picked up pace.

One by one, the members appeared, each dressed in different styles of attire, each accompanied by a symbolic object. The camera zoomed in on their strikingly beautiful faces, all of them wearing an expression of aloof indifference, as if looking down from an untouchable height.

Then, Tang Si noticed a line of elegant cursive text at the top of the screen:

Chapter 1: The Temple

At this point, she was starting to feel overwhelmed.

In her ears, every line of the melody was gripping enough to make her heart tremble. In front of her, every frame of the MV was crafted to perfection. On top of that, she realized this music video had a storyline, which meant she now had to multitask—listening, watching, and analyzing all at once.

She had completely forgotten why she even clicked on this MV in the first place. Now, she was just… mesmerized.

She had to admit—Shenghong Entertainment truly deserved its reputation as a powerhouse. The quality of this MV alone proved it.

When she watched NS’s music videos in the past, they were… decent, at best. Hit-or-miss, with frequent lapses in execution.

But she had never experienced anything quite like this.

Part 1 was clearly introducing the members’ identities, with each close-up shot delivered at just the right moment.

A pure, innocent boy in spotless white.

A gentle angel, radiant and kind.

A bold and dashing warrior, eyes sharp with courage.

A solemn and imposing judge, his expression cold and unyielding.

And finally—a calm, wise, and rational main god.

Each persona was distinct, each styling flawlessly executed. Their makeup was so immaculate, it almost felt unreal.

At the end of Part 1, the chorus had reached its climax. The Judge raised his bow and arrow, releasing the arrow straight toward the screen. Caught off guard, Tang Si instinctively took a step back.

The next moment, the scene shifted, and bold letters appeared on the screen:

“Chapter 2: The Dinner”

Just like that, the MV, which had been soaring to its peak in both melody and visuals, seemed to hit an abrupt pause.

On the screen, all the members sat quietly in their seats.

The only sound in the background was the clinking of knives and forks. In the transition music, an eerie drumbeat echoed, its rhythm unsettling—like the pounding of human heartbeats.

“Thump, thump.”

Tang Si’s heart thumped along with it.

It was an exquisitely composed scene, so stunning that it reminded her of the oil paintings she had seen in museums. The entire frame carried a sense of solemnity, yet there was something inexplicably eerie about it—an undercurrent of unease.

She gripped her mouse tighter, instinctively trying to extract more details from the scene.

She saw the Warrior, slicing into a lamb chop—his expression seemingly calm, yet his movements betrayed his restlessness.

She saw the Judge, holding an empty wine glass.

The two angels in white sat quietly at the table, their downcast eyes filled with peace and tranquility.

And then, her gaze lifted—meeting the main god at the head of the table.

A pair of beautiful yet solemn eyes stared back at her.

He was merely looking at the camera, yet Tang Si felt an inexplicable sense of compassion emanating from him.

A compassion that seemed vast, encompassing all of humanity.

The compassion of a god toward his people.

Tang Si found herself momentarily dazed, locked in that silent gaze, almost forgetting her own existence.

And at that very moment—

For once, even the barrage of bullet comments on the screen fell into complete silence.

For just one second.

The next moment, the familiar melody of the main chorus played through her headphones once again, and the previously frozen scene on the screen came back to life.

The camera zoomed in, one by one, on the members singing this part.

As the chorus soared to its peak, the perspective, which had been confined to the sacred temple, suddenly pulled back—

Now, it was an overhead view of the vast land of Shenzhou.

All the wonders of the world, the flames of human existence, unfolded before her eyes.

Tang Si’s eyes widened in shock.

Almost in disbelief, she pressed down on her headphones, and at last, she confirmed it—

Within the chaotic mix of voices, she recognized the background audio from the finale night of “Super Rookie” Season 3.

It was hidden among the many sounds.

The calls of street vendors, the hum of traffic in a bustling city, laughter, weeping.

The bitterness and sweetness of life.

And then…

“You and me.”

The screen flashed with fleeting images, as if each member had fallen into their own memories.

In the midst of the chorus’ climax, as the lead singer’s voice stretched into a long, soaring high note, all the scenes shattered into fragments.

The screen became filled with pieces.

More and more pieces, smaller and smaller, forming a brilliant, intricate kaleidoscope.

And in the instant when the kaleidoscope reached its peak, when it was so full that it could hold no more—

The high note ended, and the screen abruptly faded to black.

Tang Si stared at the screen, stunned.

…Was it over?

She felt a sense of disorientation.

At the very end of the video—

The Warrior embraced his lion, his tears falling onto its soft fur.

The Judge kissed the petals of his arrow, and for the first time, he closed his once-cold eyes.

The two pure angels, who had remained untouched by emotion, seemed at last to have been moved.

They lifted their heads—

And so did Tang Si.

She looked up and saw the explanation at the very top of the screen, written in the floating comments.

[Courage had never thought he would shed tears for his companion, just as Judge had never imagined that a bloodstained arrow could bloom with flowers.

The arrival of the rift in divinity was both sudden and yet inevitable.

Love? Humans needed love. But what about gods?

They did not know.

But they awaited the judgment of the main god. Perhaps his punishment would bring peace to their hearts.

Because they believed—even if everyone fell into the rift of divinity, the main god was the purest, most radiant, and utterly untouched by desire or love.

They longed for the rational God’s salvation.]

The camera panned upward, finally freezing on a single image—

Upon the divine throne, a glazed eye remained wide open.

The main god, whom everyone yearned for, was kneeling in a darkened chamber.

His once pure and radiant robes had, at some unknown moment, turned black. The same black silk was wrapped around his eyes.

He was murmuring his prayer in a low voice.

His pace was as steady as ever, but clearer than before.

Only this time, he did not finish—he stopped halfway.

After a long silence, he lifted his head.

And so, everyone saw it—

The silk covering his eyes was soaked with tears.

His lips trembled, and in a voice that was soft, devout, yet utterly hopeless, he finally spoke:

…tu me manques.

I miss you.

The progress bar finally reached its end.

Within the dark screen, Tang Si saw her own reflection, her expression slightly dazed.

In her hand, she was still holding the cup of water she had poured earlier.

Only then did she realize—

At some unknown moment, her eyes had turned red.

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