Chapter 41
Even after the music came to an abrupt halt, the hundred-plus viewers still in the livestream remained lost in their emotions, unable to snap out of it.
The screen had gone completely black. No sound.
Fang Huai’s phone must have finally run out of battery. The stream had ended.
They had only heard a short fragment—rushed, unpolished.
And yet… how could they even describe it?
[AAAAHHHH why am I crying from just a song?!]
[His improvement is insane?! Who said he lost his inspiration? He’s doing amazing!!!]
[I… I have no words. This is divine songwriting.]
[Everyone, if you recorded anything, please delete it or don’t spread it around. Let’s not cause unnecessary trouble. Don’t be impatient. In the end, we have to wait for an official announcement from him. Please, I’m begging you.]
[Understood.]
It was the night before Frost’s opening ceremony.
Lin Shengyun sat by the windowsill, raising a glass in tribute to the master of his craft. Wang An flipped through documents, contemplating who could replace Fang Huai as the composer for Frost. The production crew was conducting a final round of checks, and the media teams were proofreading their interview drafts…
Meanwhile, marketing accounts were feeding off the controversy, subtly publishing articles with headlines like:
“A singer who can no longer sing, a composer who can no longer compose—dragging down the entire Frost production with his downfall. How will this farce end?”
And then, there were the hundred or so people, still haunted by the melody they had just heard, unable to sleep as their thoughts surged restlessly.
Fang Huai was writing a song.
Moonlight in the Abyss was different from anything he had written before. His previous songs were light and airy, his pen gliding softly across the page—songs about nature, the stars, the rain, the breath of life.
But Moonlight in the Abyss was different.
There were parts where the melody plunged downward, deep and heavy, pressing against the heart with each note, vibrating through his very core, making even breathing feel laborious. He sank through the murky darkness, through the frigid ocean depths, descending endlessly to a place void of sound and light—into the abyss…
And then, suddenly, he saw moonlight.
That moonlight was unreal, heartbreakingly beautiful. He had expected cold, lifeless snow, but instead, it was warm and gentle, quietly spreading across the deepest, darkest pit.
At that moment, the melody turned.
“…”
When he finished the song, Fang Huai closed the piano lid and exhaled.
He glanced at the clock on the wall. 2 AM. Nearly five hours until dawn.
Moonlight in the Abyss had its main melody and rough lyrics, but it still needed refinement. The arrangement required more thought. But aside from that, there was something else he had to do.
Moonlight in the Abyss was written for Ye Yuyuan. He had no plans to use it for anything else. But now, he had another song to write—The theme song for Frost.
Once he started, everything seemed to flow naturally. Fang Huai leaned against the small sofa, holding the script in one hand while a dim nightlight cast a warm glow over the pages. He read carefully, picking apart the emotions woven between the lines.
“A romance and an ideal that remain unwavering, even in the face of death.”
He was already familiar with Frost’s story.
Curled up on the sofa, his amber eyes half-lowered, he held a writing pad against his lap with one hand while twirling a fountain pen between his slender fingers.
Closing his eyes, he suddenly found himself standing in the middle of a long, dark tunnel, mountain winds sweeping past him from a distance.
Fragments of scenes flashed through his mind.
Outside the window, the thunder of artillery fire. A ragged woman sitting on a step, hugging her knees, softly humming a lullaby. A young soldier, still youthful and unscarred, dancing a waltz with a scarecrow before smiling and pulling the trigger on himself. A painter, dipping his brush into blood, tracing the borders of his homeland onto a canvas…
Countless images intertwined, flowing into the melody beneath his pen.
By 4 AM, the main melody and lyrics of the second song were nearly complete.
Only then did sleepiness finally creep up on him. Yawning, Fang Huai curled up on the small sofa, long legs folding in as he shut his eyes. The position wasn’t comfortable, but there wasn’t much time—just a short rest before he had to wake again.
Suddenly, his old, battered phone buzzed with a notification.
Fang Huai opened his phone and saw a new message in his inbox from Ye Yuyuan:
“Are you asleep?”
Fang Huai glanced at the time—4 AM.
He always told his fans not to stay up too late, yet here he was, failing to follow his own advice. Rubbing his nose in mild embarrassment, he instinctively typed and sent a reply:
“I’m asleep.”
The moment he sent it, he suddenly realized something.
“…”
Setting the old phone aside, he curled up on the sofa, closed his eyes, and quickly drifted off.
Some time later, someone silently pushed open the door. Without a word, they picked up the sleeping boy from the sofa, placed him gently on the bed, tucked him in, and whispered a quiet “Good night.”
He wanted to stay and keep Fang Huai company.
But as just an ‘ordinary friend,’ there was no justifiable reason to do so. As soon as the sun rose, Ye Yuyuan would no longer have an excuse to be here.
*
The next day – Frost’s Opening Ceremony
The core team and staff were up early, busy with preparations. Wang An, in particular, had been up since dawn. As the music director, and given Fang Huai’s current situation, he knew that once the media interviews began, he would be a prime target for questioning.
Before long, the press started arriving one after another.
The ceremony hadn’t officially begun yet, but Wang An was already seated, pouring himself a cup of tea. Some familiar reporters approached for an interview, and as expected, most of the questions revolved around skepticism about Fang Huai.
Wang An remained perfectly composed, dodging questions skillfully.
A reporter asked, “Have you considered replacing the composer?”
“Please wait for the official list to be announced,” Wang An replied with a casual smile. “We will handle things in the best way possible. We won’t let the audience looking forward to Frost be disappointed.”
Hearing this, the reporters were instantly energized—this sounded like confirmation!
“So, is the rumor true? That Fang Huai currently can’t sing, can’t compose, and—”
Wang An kept his polite smile.
“Sorry.”
The ceremony soon began.
Feng Lang was the last to arrive. The tall, strikingly handsome man was dressed in a light gray suit, the top two buttons undone. His golden eyes were half-lidded, exuding an air of nonchalance. With long strides, he walked to his seat and immediately started playing a mobile puzzle game.
But the media was ecstatic.
No matter where Feng Lang went, he was the center of attention—his sharp, breathtaking looks, combined with his formidable background and countless scandalous rumors, made him an absolute favorite among reporters.
“Emperor Feng, is it true that you are secretly married and living with Miss Guan? Rumor has it that you two fell in love while filming Iceland Forest, and after that—”
“Fake.” He replied lazily.
“Emperor Feng, was your late-night meeting with Mr. Lin—”
Feng Lang yawned. “Who?”
“…”
Lin Shengyun, standing nearby, coughed heavily, his expression unpleasant as he reminded the reporters, “This is the opening ceremony for Frost. Unrelated questions will not be answered.”
Time passed quickly, but two seats remained empty.
One belonged to Xu Shu, an actor playing a minor role. The other was reserved for Fang Huai.
Xu Shu was just a supporting character, and he had scenes to shoot today, so he should have been on set already. But he was still dragging his feet and hadn’t arrived yet.
As for Fang Huai…
Fang Huai had actually woken up at seven.
The first thing he remembered was the gift he had meant to give Ye Yuyuan. Due to various mishaps, he had never managed to hand it over. He wasn’t sure if Ye Yuyuan was still in town—he might have already rushed back to work.
Lying in bed, he watched the soft morning light spill onto his eyelids. Memories of the previous night flooded back like a tide. The morning in this riverside town was peaceful, with fishermen’s songs drifting through the air and the faint scent of breakfast wafting in from outside.
Fang Huai called Shi Feiran, who had gone out to buy breakfast. Meanwhile, he freshened up and headed out for his morning jog and vocal exercises—an ingrained habit, no matter where he was.
But he hadn’t gone far when a woman wearing a staff badge waved him over.
“You’re an extra, right? Hurry up and get changed—the first scene starts right after the opening ceremony.”
She was in charge of managing extras. With so many of them around, she couldn’t possibly remember everyone’s face. Besides, she didn’t watch variety shows, so she had no idea who Fang Huai was.
“Costumes are over there.”
Fang Huai hesitated. “But—”
“Hurry, there’s no time!”
“…”
A middle-aged woman was in charge of handing out costumes. She scanned Fang Huai from head to toe, clearly impressed by his appearance. After a moment’s consideration, she pulled out a neatly pressed military uniform and handed it to him.
“The dressing room is in the back—don’t waste time.”
She had an eye for talent. Fang Huai had delicate yet structured features, with slightly downturned eyes that gave him a natural youthful charm. With the right styling, he could pull off almost any look. Right now, he was just playing a background character—but who knew? Maybe one day, he’d become a household name.
She had given him a slightly higher-quality uniform than the others—after all, this particular extra had a couple of speaking lines.
Fang Huai was too stunned to argue and found himself being ushered off to change.
“Um—”
“Just change already!” The woman tapped the uniform impatiently. “Why are young people these days so hesitant?”
Fang Huai: “…”
The uniform was more complicated than he had expected, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to put it on. He managed to get most of it right, but the sleeves were tricky. Pushing open the door, he called out:
“Sorry, I’m not sure how to fasten these.”
The dressing room for extras was chaotic—several people were lounging around, smoking, chatting with their arms slung over each other’s shoulders. Smoke curled through the air as a woman yelled, “You guys, stop smoking in here!” The casting coordinator was rushing back and forth, shouting instructions.
It was noisy, messy, and full of life.
But in that moment, it was as if a block of ice had been dropped into a boiling pot of water—suddenly, everything fell silent.
Countless eyes turned toward him.
Fang Huai stood there, not understanding why.
The costume designer had been right—Fang Huai did look incredible in a military uniform—A light gray military uniform, with every button neatly fastened up to the collar. The fitted trousers highlighted his long legs, their cuffs tucked perfectly into polished boots. His posture was straight, accentuating the elegant lines from his shoulders to his waist. A pair of pristine white gloves covered his hands.
He looked both strikingly handsome and completely untouchable.
The morning light quietly settled on the corners of his eyes and brows. His light amber eyes rippled slightly before he lowered his gaze, shadows tracing the outline of an untold story.
Many people felt like their hearts were about to stop.
They weren’t the type to articulate refined compliments, but they just knew—he looked good. And not just in a shallow, ordinary way. He stood there like a painting, the surrounding light embracing him with reverence, colors vivid and rich, as if he had stepped out of a lingering cinematic long shot.
The casting coordinator was momentarily speechless. The middle-aged woman murmured, “Handsome… truly handsome.”
An extra instinctively pulled out their phone, recording a short video and quietly uploading it to Douyin (TikTok). Others snapped photos and posted them on Weibo.
At that moment, a young woman squeezed through the crowd, momentarily stunned by the sight before quickly snapping back to reality.
“Are you Fang Huai? …The opening ceremony is happening now—Director Lin is looking for you!”
*
“Fang Huai still isn’t here?”
The media murmured among themselves.
“Is he afraid to show up? Is he embarrassed because he can’t compose anymore? Or has Frost already decided to replace him?”
Normally, at a film’s opening ceremony, the composer, lyricist, and theme song performer wouldn’t be present. But everyone knew Lin Shengyun’s quirks—he insisted that the theme song’s creative team stay with the production. Every time he launched a film, the lead composer would attend.
“I bet he doesn’t dare to come. There are only five minutes left.”
“Did he bail at the last minute?”
“Director Lin, despite public opposition, you still chose Fang Huai as the composer. Is there some hidden agenda—”
“No, it’s because he’s…” good enough.
Lin Shengyun’s words trailed off.
The venue fell silent for a moment.
Countless eyes turned toward the entrance, freezing in place as they followed the figure stepping forward.
It took a full thirty seconds before the press snapped out of their daze, recovering from the visual impact. A microphone was immediately shoved in front of Fang Huai.
“Mr. Fang, hello. Is it true that you can no longer compose? There are rumors that you’re struggling with songwriting and will soon withdraw from Frost. Can you confirm this?”
Tension filled the air.
Even Lin Shengyun found himself on edge. He hadn’t given Fang Huai any specific instructions on how to handle these questions. He worried Fang Huai might say the wrong thing and give critics more ammunition—or worse, that the questions would hit a sore spot and make him even more disheartened.
After all, the fact remained—he really couldn’t compose anything.
Some of the criticisms were even harsher. The media present had been carefully selected, but that didn’t stop some reporters from taking an extreme approach just to grab attention.
“Mr. Fang, you have neither talent nor ability. Do you think it’s fair for you to take this spot? Don’t you ever feel guilty?”
“……”
Fang Huai was momentarily stunned.
He stood there quietly, his light amber eyes clear as if washed by water. Not far away, Feng Lang, who had been playing a match-three game on his tablet just moments ago, narrowed his eyes in displeasure and put the device down, ready to stand up—
But before he could, Fang Huai suddenly curved his lips into a faint smile and turned to a staff member beside him.
“Excuse me, may I borrow the piano?”
The opening ceremony was being held in a grand hall, and they would soon be heading out to light incense and pay respects. In the corner of the hall, there was indeed a piano.
No one knew what he was planning to do. A mix of curiosity, skepticism, and disdain filled the air as countless eyes focused on him.
After receiving confirmation, Fang Huai walked to the piano and pressed the first key.
A single, resonant note rang out.
