Chapter 74
[I don’t get it. Why do people keep hyping up this trash?]
[It’s just about looks. This nobody has always been a terrible songwriter, a terrible dancer, yet a bunch of elementary school fans keep boosting his popularity…]
[My cousin gave me an Abyss Moonlight album today. I threw it straight into the trash, haha. Garbage belongs in the garbage bin.]
[Well done!]
[Have any of you even listened to Abyss Moonlight? As a neutral listener and a music student, I have to say, this album was unexpectedly good. The technique is still raw, but it’s naturally expressive, and the emotional depth is outstanding.]
Due to “Mango Uncle’s” malicious influence, many people had joined the online mob without even listening to the album.
And worst of all, they acted as if they were completely justified.
“So what if I haven’t listened to it?” They would say. “Do I really have to eat a whole rotten egg before I can call it disgusting?”
Besides, Fang Huai doesn’t have any outstanding talent. He debuted not long ago—so why is he so popular? There must be something shady going on—backdoor deals, hidden transactions, or maybe even multiple sugar daddies and mommies. That’s why, when it finally came down to proving himself with actual album sales, he flopped. He deserved to be mocked by everyone.
This was what felt right to them—how things were supposed to unfold. It aligned with their expectations.
Moreover, “Mango Uncle” was seen as a righteous figure in the industry—an unyielding critic, a fighter against corruption, the embodiment of justice. Following his lead not only allowed people to insult others without guilt, but also let them maintain an air of moral superiority—”pure and untainted, a noble voice in the industry.” Why wouldn’t they go along with it?
So, even though some neutral listeners and fans tried to clear Fang Huai’s name, the rumors only spread further. The hashtag #AbyssMoonlightIsTerrible# even made it onto the trending list.
The album’s sales plummeted once again—this time, even worse than when it was first released.
*
Until 9 PM.
A well-known blogger, “MusicTalk V,” published a 10,000-word Weibo post with the tag #SayNoToRumorsSayNoToCyberbullying#, directly calling out @MangoUncle, the infamous music critic.
The lengthy post compiled all of Mango Uncle’s scandals over the past four to five years—including malicious smear campaigns, spreading false rumors, distorting facts, and unethical paid promotions. It even included dozens of transaction records, each worth millions, leaving readers in shock.
When the post went live, “Mango Uncle”—Li Mang— was sitting at his computer, furiously typing away.
“Hello? Yeah, it’s me… A long post?” Li Mang was a greasy, overweight middle-aged man. One hand hovered over the keyboard as he sneered, “Again? Haven’t they learned by now? How stupid. Let me call Mr. Wang—yeah, he’ll help me get it deleted—”
Li Mang wouldn’t dare run this kind of business without strong backing. He pulled out another phone and dialed a number.
Half a minute passed. His brows furrowed—the call wouldn’t go through.
Another half-minute. The other party blocked him.
Li Mang froze.
At that moment, his computer screen was already flooded with notifications. His mentions and comments had maxed out at 99+.
“MusicTalk” wasn’t just any blogger—it was one of the biggest names in the industry. Unlike personal influencers, it was run by a full team, accepted both anonymous and non-anonymous submissions, and operated without profit. It had gained a reputation for fairness over the years and amassed a massive following.
Li Mang’s hands trembled as he clicked on the comments.
[No way, right? Uncle’s just too straightforward. He must’ve offended some powerful people. This is all just a smear campaign.]
[Wake up, will you?? If you don’t need your eyes, donate them to someone who does. LOOK at the evidence. This is just karma catching up with him.]
[The small singer I used to like was driven out of the industry because of him. I’ve been waiting for someone to expose him. What goes around comes around.]
[I’ll wait and see. This feels too unbelievable—Uncle doesn’t seem like the type to do something like this. Besides, Fang Huai’s song really isn’t good! If it’s badly written, can’t people say so?]
[I’m going crazy!! You guys who say it’s bad haven’t even listened to it, right? Can you not claim you’ve heard it after just ten seconds??]
Twenty minutes later, Feng Lang and Duan Yang simultaneously reposted a long-form Weibo post, pushing the tag’s popularity even higher. The hashtag #SayNoToCyberBullying surpassed #‘Abyss Moonlight’IsTerrible, making it into the top eight trending topics.
Li Mang’s hands trembled as he exited Weibo, forcing himself to stay calm.
He hadn’t reached a dead end yet—there was still a chance… Besides, after all these years of doing shady things, there was no turning back now.
He dialed another number.
“Teacher Li Guoyang? It’s me, Li Mang. Yes, I wanted to ask—when will the shortlist for the Silver Birch Awards be announced?”
“……”
The preview mashup of Abyss Moonlight had already been released online, and on the day of its official release, the MV was made temporarily available for free. Because of this, a flood of curious listeners rushed in.
At the start, as the screen faded from black, comments scrolled across the video:
[I just want to hear what a song with such polarized opinions actually sounds like…]
[+1. This is insane. So is this song well-written or terrible?]
Comments kept streaming by, but a few seconds later, as the deep sound of water immersion filled the silence, the chaotic comment section gradually quieted. Most listeners were drawn in—their scattered thoughts faded away, and they began to truly listen.
Between the beginning and the 1:30 mark, some people couldn’t take it and exited the video—most of them were younger, around sixteen or below. They craved visual and auditory stimulation, whether from attractive idols or high-energy EDM and rock. Unwilling to endure such a long buildup, they fired off a “What the hell is this? It sucks!” comment before leaving.
But more people stayed. The comment section slowed down as the melody’s emotions seeped into their hearts.
Then, at the 1:30 mark, when the chorus hit…
Five minutes later, many exited the video with red-rimmed eyes.
A song—or any work of art, really—isn’t defined by sales or awards.
Its greatest achievement is making people see the world, see humanity, and, in the end… see themselves.
As the notes and lyrics flowed, they reflected the listener’s own life—their joys, their sorrows—leaving nothing hidden.
Looking back after hearing the whole piece, that initial 90-second buildup was not a flaw.
But such emotions are difficult to put into words. Non-musicians often can’t pinpoint exactly what makes a song good—it’s a unique, immersive experience that feels incomplete if even a single part is missing.
Many modern pop songs blow up for a short time, sometimes just for a single catchy phrase, yet feel underwhelming when listened to in full. But this song wasn’t like that.
[I’m not young anymore, and I’m not about to exaggerate, but this song made me cry.]
[After listening to the song, I went back to check that so-called critic Mango Uncle’s Weibo… Was he just lying through his teeth? Where is it shoddy? Where is it careless?! What a shameless guy—he almost made me miss out on such a masterpiece.]
[@MangoUncle, what makes a dumb and malicious hack of a music critic think he’s a voice of reason?? Come out and take your beating!!! Walk too many dark roads, and you’ll run into ghosts!!]
Abyss Moonlight actually suffered from two major disadvantages.
First, its promotion lacked sensationalism. Fang Huai had no interest in flashy marketing tactics, so although the song initially gained exposure, its simplistic album cover, understated promotional posters, and straightforward taglines—while true to the song’s essence—failed to create much intrigue.
Second, the title track followed an unconventional and less mainstream compositional style, making it a harder sell.
As the situation continued to escalate, Mango Uncle seemed to grow guilty and hesitant, failing to respond for a long time. Meanwhile, curiosity drove more and more people to listen to the theme song, leading to a slow but steady recovery in both the sales and reputation of Abyss Moonlight.
If things continued like this, a complete turnaround seemed inevitable.
Then, at midnight, everything changed.
Mango Uncle posted a new Weibo update:
“Whether a song is good or not is a highly subjective matter. Even if ten thousand people like it, I still have the right to criticize and dislike it. The internet is an open and fair space. On the other hand, some people are truly disgusting—just because I shared my opinion and they didn’t like it, they now want to pin all sorts of baseless accusations on me?”
“As for Abyss Moonlight, I heard a few days ago that it was submitted for the Silver Birch Awards. Everyone should be familiar with the prestige of the Silver Birch Awards. If this song is truly as outstanding as people claim, then winning a gold or silver prize should be a piece of cake, right?”
[This greasy old man needs to stop trying to cover for himself. The evidence is rock solid, yet he still has the audacity to call others out for slander. Unbelievable. Just stay home and wait for the lawyer’s letter, okay?]
[The Silver Birch Awards… Yeah, it’s prestigious, but something about this feels off.]
[With Abyss Moonlight’s quality, a top-three placement should be a given. Can’t wait to see this greasy old man get slapped in the face.]
Many who had listened to Abyss Moonlight—including professionally trained musicians and industry insiders—believed that based on their knowledge and experience, the song should have no problem making it into the top three. This year’s competition wasn’t particularly strong, either. Some even felt Fang Huai’s talent was like a once-in-a-generation gift.
Yet, an uneasy feeling lingered.
That unease became reality the next morning at 8 AM when the Silver Birch Awards jury announced the shortlist.
To everyone’s shock… Abyss Moonlight wasn’t just absent from the top three—it hadn’t even passed the preliminary selection!
For casual listeners who hadn’t heard the song yet, this immediately cast doubt. If the song was really as amazing as people hyped it up to be, how could it fail to pass even the first round? Maybe those fans were just paid bots…
But those familiar with the industry took one look at this year’s judging panel and instantly understood.
—Li Guoyang!
The toxic culture of seniority-based favoritism in the industry was started by him. Jealous and petty, he deliberately suppresses young musicians, preventing them from rising to prominence. This was undoubtedly his doing.
Originally, the head judge for this year’s panel was supposed to be Jacks, a Chinese-American musician. Jacks and Li Guoyang were complete opposites—Jacks was a free-spirited, romantic conductor who only cared about talent and ability, regardless of whether an artist was new or experienced.
However, Jacks happened to be unavailable during this period, leaving Li Guoyang in charge instead.
The problem was that while industry insiders knew this, the general public did not.
And so, the reputation of Abyss Moonlight plummeted.
*
9:00 AM
At an airport on the outskirts of Nan City, a flight landed smoothly.
A stylish middle-aged man, looking to be in his early forties, stepped out. He wore sunglasses and a pair of floral shorts. In slightly awkward Mandarin, he asked an airport staff member, “Excuse me, where’s the subway entrance?”
After getting directions, he grinned and thanked them before dialing a number. He spoke in an exaggerated tone, “Boss Ye, you’re so cold-hearted. You invited me back to the country, but you didn’t even send a car to pick me up—”
“Sorry, I’m very busy right now.” The voice on the other end was low and indifferent.
“…Alright then.” Jacks shrugged.
After posting a Weibo update to reassure his fans, Fang Huai stopped paying attention to the internet drama.
Unlike many others who were practically addicted to social media, he had never been reliant on it. Quitting was easy. Now that things had escalated to this point, there wasn’t much else he could do within his power. Rather than let it affect his mood, he chose to ignore it.
Last night, when he received Ye Yuyuan’s call in the hallway of a Western restaurant, he had been feeling extremely down.
But strangely enough, after hearing his voice and exchanging just a few words, he gradually calmed down. Of course, the disappointment and sadness hadn’t completely vanished—those could only fade with time.
That final confession… He had covered the microphone when he said it.
…Ye Yuyuan probably didn’t hear it, right?
*
3:00 PM
After taking a nap, Fang Huai sat on the edge of his bed for a while, mind blank.
Ye Yuyuan seemed very busy. He had come home late last night, said goodnight, and went straight to sleep. He had also left early in the morning, as if preparing for something.
Fang Huai rubbed his hair in frustration, his nose slightly red, then got up to wash and get dressed.
He was going out.
He wrapped a scarf around his neck, put on work pants, and slipped into a pair of low-cut boots before heading out. With his tall frame and long legs, he looked good in anything. Just a little grooming made him both handsome and refined. He wasn’t good at styling himself, so all his clothes and shoes had been picked out by Ye Yuyuan.
Just before leaving, Fang Huai paused for a moment, took a step back, and adjusted the slightly upturned ends of his hair in front of the mirror. Only then did he pull on a mask, lower his cap, and step out.
Today, there were no scheduled shoots—it was his free time.
Instead of heading to the bustling city center, he wandered into an older, quieter part of town. The people here were mostly elderly uncles and aunties out shopping for groceries or taking leisurely strolls. The atmosphere was peaceful, almost like a world of its own, secluded from the noise of modern life.
He searched for a long time before finally finding the shop he was looking for.
Inside, an elderly woman wearing reading glasses was absorbed in her newspaper. She slowly lifted her glasses and looked at him, a hint of recognition mixed with confusion in her expression.
She stared at him for a long while before reaching into a cabinet with trembling hands and pulling something out. Then, she asked:
“…Are you a Fang family child?”
Two hours later.
As the Winter Solstice approached, the sky darkened early. By just past five o’clock, dusk had already set in.
Fang Huai carefully tucked a small box into his pocket, pulled up his mask, and walked into the crowd. It was the evening rush hour, and the streets were packed with people engaged in lively conversations. Young people, in particular, loved discussing trending topics.
“So, have you guys listened to Abyss Moonlight?”
“Yeah, I did. It’s honestly terrible. No wonder it didn’t make the Silver Birch Awards shortlist…”
“Glad I didn’t waste money on the digital album. I listened to a pirated version, haha. Couldn’t even last a full minute—so bad.”
“Wait, isn’t listening to pirated music wrong?”
“…Come on, actually paying for this album would just be a waste of money.”
Fang Huai walked silently among the crowd, the chaotic chatter ringing in his ears.
After a brief hesitation, he put on the Bluetooth earbuds he had bought a while ago and played an instrumental track, shutting out the voices around him.
As twilight deepened, lights flickered on one by one across the city. Shopkeepers closed up for the night, and the warm aroma of home-cooked meals drifted out from behind windowpanes.
Fang Huai strolled slowly along the sidewalk, taking his time until he finally stopped.
He wanted to see Ye Yuyuan.
…Really wanted to.
Absentmindedly, he reached for his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The glow of sunset and city lights reflected in his eyes, blending into something unspoken, something that seeped deep into his heart.
But unlike the usual sweetness and excitement, this time, his heart felt heavy and sore.
He wanted to see Ye Yuyuan right now. Even if it was just for a simple exchange of words, that would be enough.
Fang Huai clenched the small box in his pocket—then, after a moment, loosened his grip.
Just then, the instrumental track in his Bluetooth earbuds cut off, and the sounds of the outside world rushed back in.
From a roadside convenience store, a mechanical music box suddenly clicked into motion, playing an unfamiliar tune.
“Huh,” the shop owner murmured in surprise. “I didn’t touch it.”
A moment later, a street-side speaker picked up the melody and joined in. Then another speaker chimed in. And another. More and more electronic devices became part of the performance, as if an invisible hand was guiding them.
Scattered notes linked together into a flowing melody, gathering force like a rising tide. As night descended, beneath the flickering glow of a thousand city lights, the music surged—resonating, reverberating—sweeping through the streets in a breathtaking wave.
The tune was beautiful yet unfamiliar to most.
But Fang Huai recognized it instantly.
It was the main theme of Abyss Moonlight.
His breath hitched.
And then, through his Bluetooth earbuds, a low, slightly hoarse voice came through.
“Fang Huai, I…”
“There’s something I want to tell you.”
A confession? Using his own music? I love this