Chapter 72
Due to the performer’s limited skill level, it was obvious they were just beginning to learn the piano. The expression was lacking, but it was still enough to convey a little something.
[Huh? Is this how the song actually sounds?! I need to check it out.]
[No way… I bought the album and listened to a bit of it. It’s not good at all! Are these fake reviews for real?!]
[It’s this one!! Go listen to Abyss Moonlight. If you’re impatient, skip to 1:30, but I’d recommend listening to the full version.]
Signal of the Heart was already the most popular variety show of the season in China. Even on weekdays, it had over 900,000 viewers, and during holidays, the traffic exploded.
And surprisingly, just that short 30-second melody left a strong impression—itching at people’s curiosity. Many, still skeptical, went to digital music platforms to buy the album.
By 7 PM, Abyss Moonlight‘s digital album saw a sudden surge in sales.
But what kind of song was Abyss Moonlight exactly?
*
Wang Jiaru was a single office worker and a devoted viewer of Signal of the Heart.
Work was exhausting. She wasn’t into celebrities, nor did she have any short-term plans for romance. Watching this show was just a way to relax. She liked Fang Huai, but only as a casual fan. She hadn’t planned on buying his album—until she heard that melody in the live broadcast, which piqued her interest.
She purchased the digital album on Cloud Music and, after a moment of hesitation, switched to her best-quality headphones—a birthday gift from her best friend.
Clicking into the MV, her first reaction was astonishment. To be honest, there were plenty of music videos out there, but this was the first time she had seen one like this.
She put on her headphones. After two seconds of silence in the intro, instead of a musical prelude, she first heard the urgent rush of wind, the noise of people, the sounds of carriages and trains, arguments, and cries—chaos, pure chaos. This cacophony lasted about three seconds.
Then, there was a deep, muffled boom. Everything fell silent.
Through the high-quality headphones, she caught a faint, husky chuckle—fleeting, but laced with mockery.
Wang Jiaru froze for a moment. Then, suddenly, a chill crept into her heart.
She realized what it was.
—It was the sound of someone plunging into water, casting everything aside, their final farewell to the world.
The MV, which had been in total darkness until now, finally revealed a scene.
Water surrounded the viewer from all directions. The surface was still shallow, with daylight flickering above, ripples dancing, and fish gliding by. Then, the camera began to sink.
The MV was filmed in a first-person perspective, capturing the entire process—from plunging in, to struggling, to sinking deeper. It was so realistic that it was almost unsettling.
At that moment, the piano intro began. A low, heavy note, pressing down on the heart with each beat, pulling it deeper and deeper.
Her roommate, who had come back at some point, walked over and shared an earbud with her, watching together.
But after about twenty seconds, the roommate couldn’t take it anymore. She put down the earbud, cursing as she stood up.
“What the hell is this? So boring.”
She rubbed her temples and went to tidy up her things.
But Wang Jiaru kept her headphones on, listening to the entire song in silence.
It wasn’t until two minutes later, when the visuals faded and the final note dissipated, that Wang Jiaru slowly removed her headphones and let out a deep breath.
Her mind was completely blank. She couldn’t say a single word for a long time.
It was only when she reached up and touched the dampness on her face that she realized—at some point, she had started crying uncontrollably.
She wasn’t the only one.
Many others were experiencing the same thing.
It was hard to believe that a song like this had been written by someone who had only just come of age. Its meaning wasn’t particularly complex—pure, simple even—but it unearthed something from the deepest part of the soul and laid it bare for all to see.
While most songs celebrated life and avoided the topic of death, the first half of this song explored death with a rational and objective lens.
When life reaches its end, how should one face that moment? How does one bid farewell with dignity?
A quiet kind of suffocation. A silent descent.
Until later—
“……”
Thanks to Signal of the Heart directing traffic to it, sales of Abyss Moonlight‘s digital album began to soar. The overwhelming ridicule and fan-driven praise in the comments were now being joined by new voices—not bots, but genuine listeners who had taken the time to experience the song and were now sharing their heartfelt reactions.
[I don’t even know how to describe this song. I checked the time—it’s only five minutes long, yet listening to it felt like… experiencing death and rebirth. Before I knew it, I was crying.]
[10086 sobbing emojis. I really cried, full-body chills. I’m ordering the physical album right now.]
[I used to think a truly great song was one that people could sing along to, one that could be played on repeat. This song completely changed my understanding.]
It wasn’t just casual listeners—several well-known bloggers with sizable followings also joined the discussion. They came from various fields, from literature to emotional well-being, and they spontaneously started sharing, promoting, and analyzing the song.
Sales of Abyss Moonlight were picking up, but overall, they were still modest. Despite the growing number of organic recommendations, the album’s initial poor reception had left many people hesitant, watching from the sidelines.
—
Meanwhile, the live broadcast of Signal of the Heart continued, unaffected by the shift in public opinion.
Tonight, Duan Yang and Lin Huan were in charge of cooking. They had planned to make curry, but when Yin Wanyue returned from a stroll, deep in thought, she was greeted by a loud boom from the kitchen—something had exploded.
Yin Wanyue: “???”
Two seconds later, Lin Huan emerged with a dark expression, while Duan Yang followed behind her, gripping a spatula, looking slightly guilty.
“How about barbecue for dinner?” Duan Yang suggested. “The production team should have the equipment, right?”
Yin Wanyue: “…What happened?”
Lin Huan wiped her face. “He put a raw egg in the microwave, set it to level three, and at the same time, tossed the ingredients into the pan without adding oil first. Then—”
The pan caught fire. The microwave exploded.
[Blazing chaos, utter confusion]
[It’s good to be alive. That was terrifying. I actually jumped.]
[Barbecue sounds good too. Just hearing this is making me hungry.]
And so, for various reasons, by 7 PM, a barbecue grill was set up on the rooftop of the villa.
Though it was winter, there wasn’t much wind that night. The air was still biting cold, but once the charcoal started burning, the heat brought everyone closer together. The sky was streaked with red clouds, and the last rays of the setting sun slowly faded away.
“Barbecue?” Fang Huai walked onto the rooftop, yawning after his afternoon nap. “I know how. Let me do the grilling.”
He was wrapped in a down jacket and a scarf, his fair and handsome face exposed to the cold. The tip of his nose was slightly red from the chill, and his light-colored eyes were clear and bright, carrying the drowsiness of just waking up.
As soon as he spoke, everyone turned to look at him.
No one mentioned it out loud, but they were all aware that Abyss Moonlight‘s sales were underwhelming. They were worried, unsure of how Fang Huai was feeling.
Fang Huai blinked, confused. “Hm?”
After a brief silence, no one brought up the album. Instead, they acted as if nothing had happened and continued chatting and laughing.
Feng Lang and Ye Yuyuan were still at work and would return later.
Fang Huai took a skewer from Yin Wanyue, skillfully brushing oil and flipping it over. As he worked, he asked in a low voice, “What’s wrong? Are you guys hiding something from me?”
Yin Wanyue hesitated. She wasn’t sure if she should say anything, but seeing that Fang Huai’s expression didn’t seem like a forced smile, she finally decided to speak. “It’s about your album…”
“Yeah.” Fang Huai nodded.
How should he put it? Of course, he felt a bit disappointed.
But there was no regret or sadness. He had done everything he could. Every song in this album was something he could stand by without shame. If he had listened to the executives back then and made a trendy, mass-appealing album, maybe the sales would have been better, but he wouldn’t have been nearly as happy as he was now.
He was willing to bear the full responsibility for the album’s poor sales. No one else needed to take the fall for him. The coming days might be tough, but in this moment, his emotions weren’t as heavy as he had imagined.
Besides, things weren’t as bad as they could be.
“If I fall, then I fall.” Fang Huai flipped the skewer in his hand, brushing honey over the chicken wings. “I’ll just get back up.”
The glow of the fire flickered in his light amber eyes, making them gleam with determination. He stood there in the warm glow, looking both dazzling and slightly rebellious as he smiled.
Casually, he added, “I can afford to lose.”
Yin Wanyue looked at him and, for a moment, felt like this boy had grown up.
The feeling came out of nowhere. She stared at Fang Huai for a little longer, but that fleeting impression was gone—everything seemed just as usual.
“Keep going,” she finally said seriously.
*
Twenty minutes later.
Ye Yuyuan was the last to arrive. Everyone had been waiting for him.
Since it was a barbecue, there was no need for formality. Lin Huan was even wearing slippers, and each person had a can of beer in hand. The burning charcoal glowed red, flickering in the night.
He nodded silently to everyone and took a beer from Feng Lang’s hand.
Unexpectedly, Fang Huai’s grilling skills outclassed everyone else’s, so most of the food was cooked by him. While everyone was greeting Ye Yuyuan, Fang Huai was actually the most flustered. Standing behind the grill, he quietly said, “Welcome back.”
Ye Yuyuan had been leaving early and returning late these past few days—they hadn’t seen each other for quite some time.
Fang Huai had missed him.
From the moment he realized his own feelings, even his breathing and heartbeat had taken on a different meaning. But at the same time, he was like a high schooler experiencing love for the first time—there were no strict rules keeping him in check, yet he was still on edge, instinctively trying to hide his emotions. But in reality, nothing could be concealed.
There are three things in the world that cannot be hidden—poverty, a cough, and love for someone.
At least half the people in the Signal House had already guessed that Fang Huai had fallen in love. He was just too obvious.
His expressions constantly shifted between silly grins and distress. He often stared at his phone, and sometimes, when a message notification popped up, his eyes would suddenly light up.
If the production team hadn’t intentionally concealed it, even the 900,000 viewers might have figured it out by now.
At 7 PM, as everyone grilled their food, they started chatting.
“New Year’s is coming up soon.”
“Yeah, are you going home for the holiday, or…?”
Ye Yuyuan had never been fond of socializing. He stood on the outskirts of the group, hesitated for a moment, then walked toward Fang Huai.
“Do you want lamb skewers?” Fang Huai flipped a batch of skewers and asked, “Are you out of beer? Do you want some juice?”
As he spoke, he poured a glass of juice and handed it to Ye Yuyuan.
Ye Yuyuan stood in front of him, his gaze lowered, deep black eyes fixed intently on Fang Huai. His index finger curled slightly before he reached out—not to take the skewer directly, but instead—
He wrapped his hand around Fang Huai’s, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip of the juice.
After swallowing, he calmly remarked, “Not bad.”
Fang Huai: “…”
At that moment, his hand holding the glass felt like it was burning.
The others were still drinking beer and chatting, unaware of what was happening in this corner.
“O-oh…” Fang Huai stammered. “That’s good. If you want more… I can refill it.”
He felt restless, touching the tip of his nose, which had turned slightly red.
…So, how exactly was he supposed to act around someone he liked??
It was probably a good thing that Ye Yuyuan had been busy lately. Otherwise, if they spent all day together, Fang Huai would surely give himself away sooner or later. Of course, a part of him actually wanted Ye Yuyuan to find out—but only when it was official, when it was serious.
At the very least, there had to be roses and a suit. From what he had seen, people often proposed over candlelit dinners in fancy restaurants.
He wanted to walk this path with Ye Yuyuan for a long, long time.
This thought had occupied Fang Huai’s mind for days. People are creatures easily swayed by hormones and impulse, especially when they are young. He needed to understand his own emotions—was this just a fleeting crush, or something deeper? Rushing into a relationship recklessly would only hurt both of them.
Besides, a confession was a big deal. It had to be done right.
Silence settled between them again. The charcoal crackled in the grill, embers bursting into the air.
Fang Huai racked his brain, searching for something—anything—to say. His mind drifted for a moment, until suddenly, he heard Ye Yuyuan ask, “Pardon my boldness—”
“Fang Huai, do you…” The man’s voice was slightly tense as he averted his gaze and asked casually, “Do you have someone you like?”
Ye Yuyuan didn’t look at him. His eyelids lowered, concealing his obsidian-like eyes, while his thumb absentmindedly rubbed against his cufflink.
Fang Huai froze.
His hand trembled, almost throwing several skewers straight into the trash. Luckily, he caught himself at the last moment and stammered, “Wh-why… are you asking that?”
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment, pressing his lips together.
Fang Huai had been far too obvious—anyone could see it.
Now, he just wanted to know—who was it?
Yin Wanyue? Lin Huan? …Feng Lang?
Just the thought of it left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sharp ache spreading through his chest.
Of course, there was also the possibility that it was him. But Ye Yuyuan didn’t dare to think that way. If it wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to bear the disappointment or the consequences.
“So, do you?”
His voice was husky at the edges as he gazed into the flickering fire, asking softly.
Fang Huai: “…”
“Yeah,” he finally admitted.
The moment those words left his lips, Ye Yuyuan fell into a long silence.
Fang Huai felt unbearably restless. He flipped the skewers again, then decided to step aside and join the others in conversation.
But just as he turned to leave, Ye Yuyuan, who had been quiet for a long time, suddenly spoke again.
“What kind of person is he?”
He paused briefly before adding in a nonchalant tone, “Since he’s someone you like, I should at least get to know him.”
You already know him. Fang Huai rubbed the corner of his lips, feeling troubled.
The night breeze blew gently, carrying a quiet warmth as they stood bathed in the glow of the embers.
“He’s really good-looking,” Fang Huai thought for a long time before forcing out a sentence.
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment. “There are plenty of attractive people. That doesn’t mean much.”
My looks aren’t worse than his, anyway.
“He’s talented in many ways,” Fang Huai struggled to come up with something. “Mm, he’s really amazing.”
Ye Yuyuan’s eyes darkened slightly. “A person’s skills don’t necessarily define their character.”
He instinctively assumed the guy must have a terrible personality.
Fang Huai continued, “He’s a really good person. He treats me well.”
“…” Ye Yuyuan looked at him and said flatly, “Time reveals a person’s true nature. If you haven’t known him long, that may not be real.”
Fang Huai’s words faltered.
Lowering his gaze, he said softly, “I… really like him.”
This time, Ye Yuyuan had no rebuttal.
It seems he really does like him.
The just-barely-adult young man, speaking about the person he loved, had an irrepressible smile in his eyes—slightly embarrassed yet still bright and dazzling. His expression was so open and sincere that it was impossible to look away.
Ye Yuyuan was silent for a moment before speaking in a somewhat stiff tone, “I don’t agree.”
“What?” Fang Huai was stunned, looking at him with a strange expression. “Why?”
Ye Yuyuan didn’t respond, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Because…
He was insanely jealous.
