All the Cubs I Raised Became Big Shots – CH17

Chapter 17

Xiao Chen’s roommate couldn’t help but mutter, “Damn… he’s really good-looking…”

And similar reactions were happening all over the place.

After all, the whole “street performer video” incident had been mixed up with Lin Rui’s controversy, and very few people truly understood the full story. On top of that, a certain group of fans had constantly hyped up the “street performer guy’s” looks, which triggered a wave of contrarians who deliberately took blurry screenshots from the low-quality video.

As expected, the screenshots weren’t flattering. Under the bombardment of various misleading posts, many people had unknowingly accepted the narrative that his looks were just “average.”

But now…

Since the show was on a short break, even the live audience broke into a buzz of discussion.

“Wait, he actually looks really good?”

“Is that the song he’s about to perform? Why am I suddenly looking forward to this?!”

“…”

Unfortunately, before the discussion could pick up further, the judges finished scoring, and the camera cut away. The audience was left wanting more, but their attention soon returned to the stage.

Because of this unexpected moment, the overwhelming pity and mockery online started to waver—after all, live viewers weren’t blind. They might follow the negative narrative for a while, but after seeing things for themselves, many realized the truth. More and more people began looking forward to Fang Huai’s performance.

Of course, the negative comments still dominated the conversation.

The score results came in—

The fourth-to-last contestant received 8.7, a mid-range score. Soon after, the third-to-last contestant finished their performance.

And then came the highlight—Lu Yu.

Lu Yu had a pair of soft, deer-like eyes. His usual image was that of a gentle and well-mannered boy, and he had carefully maintained this persona of the “sweet and kind-hearted beauty.” Due to his special background, Stellar Light had also given him a few advantages.

As the third-to-last contestant exited, the entire venue fell silent.

The curtain slowly lifted.

A fair-skinned boy sat quietly, cradling a guitar.

Lu Yu wore a simple white button-up shirt, bathed in the soft glow of the stage lights. His eyes lowered slightly as he casually strummed the strings, then he glanced up and smiled at the audience.

For a brief second, the crowd fell silent—And then came the whistles and cheers!

“Lu Yu!! Lu Yu!!!”

“So handsome!!”

“Little deer, I love you! Go for it!!”

*

In the dormitory, Xiao Chen and her roommate quietly watched the live broadcast.

Her roommate was a big Lu Yu fan. She had been momentarily shaken by Fang Huai’s unexpected visuals earlier, but now, looking at Lu Yu on screen, she immediately switched back to her original camp.

Clutching her face, she muttered dreamily, “Fang Huai really is kind of pitiful… That earlier shot of him must’ve gotten a lot of people excited for his performance. But what a coincidence—he’s the very last contestant, and my Lu Lu is right before him.”

Lu Yu’s looks and skills were beyond question.

Even if Fang Huai wasn’t as bad as the internet had made him out to be—in fact, if he was even quite talented—having Lu Yu perform before him was a tough act to follow.

Unless his performance was even more breathtaking than Lu Yu’s, the audience would inevitably find it lackluster in comparison. And that… was nearly impossible.

Lu Yu had debuted in middle school and had been in the industry for ten years. He had both the looks and the talent—he just needed the right opportunity.

Even the judges couldn’t help but feel a little regretful on Fang Huai’s behalf.

Lu Yu chose to sing an old classic—more precisely, a medley of several old songs. Unlike typical mashups, the transitions between each song were seamless, creating a unique and mesmerizing flow. The first song he sang was Farewell.

“Beyond the pavilion, beside the old road…”

When the song ended, the applause and cheers were louder than ever, nearly shaking the ceiling. Even those who hadn’t cared much for Lu Yu before found themselves reaching for their phones to search his name. Meanwhile, the live chat was going wild.

[Damn, this sounds amazing! The arrangement is so clever! Are these really the same old songs I knew?!]

[It’s beautiful and retains all its charm—so much talent! And he’s so handsome too?! I’m officially a fan now.]

[I suddenly feel bad for the street performer guy… He’s probably not as bad as the haters claim, but… he’s just so unlucky to be performing right after Lu Yu.]

Even the judges nodded in approval, and the cameras captured their looks of admiration.

…The praise was well-deserved.

After Lu Yu’s performance, many in the audience started losing focus. It was like the post-climax lull—after such a peak moment, there wasn’t much anticipation left.

Some people looked down at their phones, and if not for the event’s etiquette, a few might have even left early.

Back in the dorm, Xiao Chen’s roommate exited the livestream after Lu Yu’s performance, occasionally glancing at Xiao Chen’s screen.

After such an emotional rollercoaster, Xiao Chen had already made peace with it.

“As long as I get to see my boy,” she mumbled into her pillow, “just one look… just one look is enough.”

The judges and the panel quickly revealed Lu Yu’s score.

Out of a total of ten points, he received 9.8—the highest score of the night, and likely the highest score overall. Even the notoriously harsh veteran singer on the panel gave him a 9.7.

*

Fang Huai stood backstage.

From afar, he could hear the cheers, the applause, and the host excitedly announcing the score.

For a brief moment, his throat tightened.

But then, he relaxed.

The camera beside him faithfully recorded everything.

Slowly, Fang Huai lowered his eyelashes, closed his eyes, and waited quietly behind the curtain.

The noise in the background suddenly felt distant.

“Now, let’s welcome our final contestant!”

Unlike the overwhelming cheers that had erupted for Lu Yu, this time, only a couple of scattered voices called out “Fang Huai!” Most of the audience remained silent, watching absentmindedly.

Some had already closed their eyes for a quick nap, while others kept scrolling through Weibo on their phones.

And then—

The next second.

On the screen, at the competition venue—all the lights suddenly went out.

“Wait, did the power go out?”

“Shh—”

A single spotlight lit up the empty stage.

Unlike many contestants who requested complex lighting effects, Fang Huai’s only requirement was simple—one beam of light, focused at the center.

Just moments ago, the venue had been filled with noise and chatter, but now, it was as if boiling water had been plunged into ice—suddenly, silence.

Even those who had been playing on their phones instinctively put them down and sat up straight.

There was something inexplicable in the air.

On stage, the young man stood with his eyes closed.

His eyelashes were long, catching faint glimmers of light, creating a striking interplay of brightness and shadow. He stood quietly at the center of the stage, yet somehow, he felt distant from the crowd, as if separated by an invisible barrier.

Even time itself seemed to slow, and the dust in the air settled gently, layering moment by moment.

A bit… too good-looking.

So strikingly beautiful that it made people’s hearts tremble.

This thought flashed through the minds of many at the same time.

He wore a small suit with a Republic of China-era aesthetic. In the rush of time, his hairstyle hadn’t been properly styled, remaining in its natural state. The fleeting glimpse from earlier had only been a hurried glance—back then, he had looked handsome, but within the normal range of attractiveness. But now, even his soft breathing carried an inexplicable, breathtaking quality.

Under the stage lights, his porcelain-white skin appeared smooth and delicate. He looked as if he had stepped across a century, mistakenly wandering into the mortal world—a young master from a bygone era, untouched by the dust of reality.

“This is just too…”

“Wait a second, who was calling him ‘plain’ earlier?! Where exactly is he plain?!”

Even the sharp-tongued veteran singer on the judging panel murmured, “He does have that old-time charm.”

Just ten seconds.

The audience had put down their phones, and those who had been about to exit the livestream found themselves, as if guided by an unseen force, hesitating to press the button.

Xiao Chen stared at her laptop screen, holding her breath without realizing it. Her roommate, who had just opened a mobile game, subconsciously leaned in to watch as well—completely ignoring the fact that she was getting killed by her opponent.

Time stretched out.

Fang Huai stood in the space that had gone from a deafening roar to complete silence. His senses sharpened, cutting through the bustling crowd before him, past the clamor of the city’s traffic, reaching somewhere further—somewhere long before now.

The melody had already begun to take shape in his mind, but it was missing a color.

Where was it?

The crowd faded away. White walls caught the last sliver of twilight. An abandoned opera troupe. A curtain hanging down. A jade bracelet half-buried in the wild grass…

The picture formed. Colors emerged. The melody wove itself together.

The audience, both in the venue and in front of their screens, collectively held their breath.

Then—ten seconds later.

The boy lifted his gaze.

His eyes, clear as water, shimmered under the lights. His lips pressed slightly together before he sang the first line:

“Beyond the pavilion, beside the old road—”

A cappella. No accompaniment.

With just this one line, a sudden shiver rushed down the spines of many. A tingling sensation spread through their ears, as if the air had been sucked from the room, leaving them lightheaded and dazed.

—It sounded amazing!

His voice was pure, yet it held a rare tension—it wasn’t thin or fragile, but like a cool spring murmuring under the moonlight, clean yet layered with depth and story. With just a single phrase, he had already pulled everyone into a world that was uniquely his.

But then…

[Uhhh… wait a minute, did he just pick the same song as Lu Yu?]

[Get lost, haters. It’s literally been ONE line. What, you think you’re psychic now?]

[Pfft. And it’s a cappella too. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say this was deliberate imitation. Maybe he changed songs at the last minute just to ride on my boy Lu Yu’s hype?]

After that brief moment of shock and wonder, many people began to process what they had just heard.

This… Was this just an incredible coincidence? Or was it something more?

With just a ten-second appearance—without any special lighting effects—Fang Huai had already stood out. This made many of Lu Yu’s fans feel uneasy—their Xiao Lu had been upstaged! At this moment, they finally found a way to fight back, furiously launching attacks on Fang Huai, their keyboards clattering with intensity.

In the dormitory, even Xiao Chen’s roommate couldn’t help but comment, “This is kind of suspicious… Are we sure he didn’t change the song at the last minute? Otherwise, why is everyone else using accompaniment, but he’s singing a cappella?”

Xiao Chen hugged her pillow tightly and pressed her lips together.

“My little brother isn’t that kind of person.”

She knew.

He was just unlucky. But… wasn’t this too unlucky?

For a brief moment, the audience fell silent, before hushed murmurs began to spread. The camera cut to the judges’ faces, capturing their looks of shock and awkwardness—almost as if hinting at something.

Fang Huai finished that one line of Farewell Song, then paused for about two seconds.

He stood quietly on stage, as if the noise and commotion never reached him. After that brief moment of emptiness, he parted his lips and continued singing.

Many quickly realized—aside from the first line, this was a completely different song from what Lu Yu had performed. Rather than just a song, it felt more like a story, gently unfolding.

The melody and lyrics were entirely new, yet it wasn’t thin or uninspired. It blended seamlessly with Farewell Song, both rustic and enchanting.

“The moonlight of that night is gone, and this longing remains unfinished.”

The moon from years ago shone once more over the dim ground beneath his feet. From a slow, beautiful beginning, to the chaos of war, to the helpless sorrow of parting—the song built up, layer by layer, from tranquility to tension, pushing the atmosphere from stillness to intensity.

It was like a thousand rivers rushing toward the sea. Like all the rain in the world pouring down at once!

The audience and judges had unknowingly gone completely silent.

Some even trembled slightly, overwhelmed with emotion.

It was just a song—no visuals, no backstory explained—yet…

Images seemed to materialize out of thin air. A riverside town. Crumbling ruins. Gray walls and white tiles. The flowing sleeves of a traditional opera performer. A jade bracelet, half-buried in the wild grass.

[AHHHHHHH THIS IS SO GOOD!!!]

[@Lu Yu’s fans, come listen to this. You said he was imitating? Let your Xiao Lu try writing something like this—I’ll wait. ]

[Never expected karma to hit this fast.]

[Wait, did he write this song himself?! If he’s this talented, why is he even competing in a talent show?!]

“Holy sh—”

Xiao Chen’s roommate had squeezed up next to the laptop, staring at the screen with wide eyes. The volume was already at max, but it still didn’t feel like enough.

“What is this song?! He wrote this himself?! …Why does it sound so incredible?!”

Xiao Chen sat beside her, unable to put her emotions into words—she wanted to run downstairs and sprint two laps just to let it out.

“I knew he could do it,” she sniffled. “We—we all knew.”

In the world of talent competitions, lack of skill is the ultimate sin.

But true talent? That is the foundation of all power.

The same keyboard warriors who had been furiously bashing Fang Huai just moments ago had fallen completely silent, watching the screen like obedient little chicks. The live chat was now flooded with comments like “Unbelievable” and “Is this an original song? What’s this guy’s name?!”

Compared to the online viewers, the live audience and judges had an even stronger reaction.

—A live broadcast, after all, is filtered through recording equipment. But hearing it in person made everything clearer, more breathtaking.

So breathtaking that they were left speechless, completely drawn into the atmosphere, unable to pull themselves out. It was almost like being under a spell. As the song entered its more subdued and repressed section before the climax, many young women quietly reached for tissues to wipe their tears.

Even the seasoned singer-judge’s eyes turned red.

That alone was shocking—she had always maintained a sharp, strict persona. Even earlier, when Lu Yu performed, she had only given a few simple compliments. When had she ever been moved to this extent?!

The camera faithfully captured everything.

Then came the chorus.

The melody seamlessly carried over everything that had been built up, releasing the pent-up emotions in a sudden burst—so intense that it sent chills down spines. But… something still felt missing. It was like reaching the crest of a wave, yet sensing that something lay beyond it.

Because it was an a cappella performance, the second chorus suddenly paused for five whole seconds.

For five full seconds, a strange premonition settled over everyone.

The audience tightened their grip on their light sticks. The endless stream of live comments halted for a moment. Someone gulped, another shivered slightly.

And then—

“If you never step into the garden, how would you know the beauty of spring?”

…An opera-style vocal!

A Kunqu opera soprano voice, completely different from his usual singing!

The ending note carried a delicate, trembling sorrow, the breath long and controlled, yet seamlessly blended with the song. This moment was both unexpected and inevitable. The boy kept his eyes gently closed, yet his voice held complete control over the emotions in the room.

Kunqu opera further brought the song’s imagery to life. The exquisite, unexpected shift sent an electric shock down everyone’s spines, spreading from the back of their necks to the crown of their heads.

The venue fell silent for a second.

Then, in the next moment—The atmosphere exploded.

[AAAAAAAAAA I’M DEAD!!!!]

[I GET IT NOW—THIS SONG IS ABOUT A KUNQU OPERA ACTRESS AND A REPUBLIC-ERA STUDENT!!!]

[I CAN’T BREATHE. IS HE EVEN HUMAN?! HE CAN SING OPERA TOO??! AND HE PLACED IT RIGHT THERE?!]

[I don’t know if it’s “authentic” or not—I just know it sounds absolutely incredible!]

Fang Huai didn’t linger on the opera vocals—he smoothly transitioned back into the song, returning to his pure, clean voice. Once again, he heightened the emotional impact, carrying the song to its peak.

But that single Kunqu opera line—not only was it breathtaking and perfectly placed, but it filled in the missing gap of the story.

By now, the audience had been completely swept into the song’s emotional vortex. Their feelings, delicately and meticulously painted, had reached an unparalleled climax. The sudden burst of opera dragged everyone into the rhythm and gravity of the story, forcing them to resonate with it.

In just five minutes, their emotions had soared and plummeted, again and again.

The entire recording studio was deathly silent.

No backing track. No speakers. Not even dramatic lighting—just a single spotlight shining down.

Only his voice filled every corner, lingering, intertwining, reverberating.

The imagery grew clearer and clearer.

Even after the chorus ended and the song reached its closing section, many still couldn’t shake off the lingering emotions—especially that one breathtaking moment of opera.

At some point, the boy had closed his eyes. His long lashes caught the light, and in that quiet, soft moment, his beauty was almost unreal.

The surrounding whispers and discussions had nothing to do with him.

He simply stood there, singing his song—telling his story to completion.

“Life offers few joyful reunions, but many sorrowful farewells.”

It began with Farewell Song.

And it ended with Farewell Song.

Fang Huai finished singing.

He took a step back.

And bowed.

The venue remained silent—for who knows how long.

Even the judges sat there with dazed expressions, still immersed in the emotions of the performance.

Fang Huai: “……”

Straightening up from his bow, he looked around uncertainly at the silent, stunned crowd—suddenly feeling a bit worried.

Did he sing that badly? Why is everyone—

Thirty seconds later, a single, solitary round of applause broke the silence.

Fang Huai saw Shi Feiran in the audience, clapping furiously, his face completely red.

That seemed to snap everyone out of it.

In an instant, applause spread across the venue, growing louder and louder—until it became a thunderous ovation!

—Whistles and cheers erupted, practically shaking the roof!

In her dorm room, Xiao Chen was already covering her mouth, crying, while her roommate clutched her laptop, looking utterly unsatisfied, mumbling, “That’s it? It’s over? This short?! This year’s production team sucks.”

Even those who had previously mocked Fang Huai—calling him “rustic,” “a migrant worker,” or a “noob”—were now split into three groups: Some still stubbornly refused to admit they were wrong; Some quietly deleted their harsh posts; And many more had grabbed their tablets and laptops, frantically searching for clips of the “performing arts boy” while mumbling, “Damn… this is actually amazing.”

Meanwhile, Lu Yu, who had been so confident in his own performance, now stood frozen, his face turning slightly pale.

…To be honest, when he first heard that he was performing last while Fang Huai was going first, he had been quite pleased.

After all, Fang Huai would surely flop, and Lu Yu would be the grand finale, his brilliance further highlighted by Fang Huai’s mediocrity.

But he never could have imagined that the entire situation would flip on its head!

Now, after Fang Huai’s breathtaking, stunning performance, Lu Yu’s own set suddenly felt dull, forgettable, completely uninspired.

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