All the Cubs I Raised Became Big Shots – CH92

Chapter 92

Fang Huai had never been particularly obsessed with winning the Silver Birch Award.

If he got it, great. If not, that was fine too. Because of how he was raised, his sense of competition and desire for fame were much weaker than most people his age.

This was his second time walking the red carpet, still alone. But unlike before, this time he was one of the main stars of the event. Still, his overall style was much more understated than before.

His suit, as usual, had been chosen by Teacher Ye.

Fang Huai had his own stylist, but for major occasions, Ye Yuyuan was always the one to handle his outfits and styling. Fang Huai loved the way Ye Yuyuan would lower his head to adjust his tie and smooth out the wrinkles on his collar—it had a completely different kind of appeal from his usual demeanor.

Maybe it could even be called sexy.

Tonight, Fang Huai was wearing a pure black three-piece suit. Compared to his previous outfits, it looked more formal but wasn’t overly stiff. The usual youthful softness in his appearance had faded slightly, replaced by a sharp and confident handsomeness. He had swapped out his usual cufflinks for a pair of amber ones that matched his eye color, and his wool suit trousers outlined the long, straight lines of his legs.

The Silver Birch Awards were being broadcast live, with forums and Weibo lighting up with discussions in real time.

[Feels like watching my little cub grow up.]

[Now I kind of want to see what he’ll wear when he gets married…]

[I really hope Fang Huai wins. We can’t afford to lose face on this one.]

[Okay, first of all, I’m not blindly worshipping foreign artists, but I just don’t get Abyss Moonlight. And yeah, Jason is ridiculously talented, and yes, the domestic music industry has been weak these past few years.]

[Replying to the comment above: Sin is exponentially more popular worldwide than Abyss Moonlight. That’s just a fact. Some people are just flaunting their little bit of domestic hype.]

Fang Huai’s walk down the red carpet was well-executed and composed. He wasn’t the type to exude an overwhelming aura or sharp dominance, but somehow, whenever he was in front of the camera, all the focus naturally gravitated toward him—it seemed like an innate talent.

After finishing the red carpet walk, media interviews followed as per tradition.

The reporters had their questions pre-planned and rehearsed, so they didn’t all rush in at once. On the surface, their questions seemed neutral:

“Mr. Fang, hello. From an objective standpoint, who do you think has the best chance of winning the Golden Tree Award this time? Do you have confidence in yourself?”

This question appeared simple but was actually full of traps. If he answered too confidently, he’d be criticized as arrogant and full of himself. If he was overly modest, it would come across as weak and self-effacing. And on top of that, there was the whole Jason issue.

But Fang Huai didn’t overthink it. His original plan was to answer honestly—he really liked his own work, but he also acknowledged that Jason’s Sin was an excellent piece. He wouldn’t be surprised no matter who won.

That was until his gaze landed on something nearby.

A foreign young man stood at a corner not far away, his hair dyed a color that closely resembled a turkey’s feathers. His fashion style was the complete opposite of Fang Huai’s—so flamboyant that he might as well have “I’m here to win” written all over his face.

Fang Huai had seen his album’s music videos before. That guy was Jason Morick.

The turkey-haired Jason was standing in a camera blind spot, looking completely at ease. A cigarette was held between his fingers, while his assistant trailed behind him, carrying a gift bag from the event organizers. Among the gifts was a small Chinese flag.

It was common for foreign tourists to get temporary tattoos of the Chinese flag on their faces or wear T-shirts with slogans like “He who has not climbed the Great Wall is not a true hero.” The event staff probably thought Jason would appreciate the same kind of cultural gesture.

But Fang Huai watched as Jason pulled the flag out, tossed it onto the ground, and stomped on it twice. He mumbled something under his breath, and Fang Huai, reading his lips, made out the words:

“Fuck China.”

Then, Jason went on to mutter even more contemptuous and offensive remarks.

It was unclear where his resentment stemmed from. At first, he had only been insulting the Chinese music industry, calling its musicians weak and unworthy competitors. But gradually, his words shifted—he was now degrading all Chinese people, calling them talentless, blind, and lowly.

There were plenty of foreigners who genuinely loved Chinese culture, but Jason clearly wasn’t one of them. His hostility was practically oozing out of him. No wonder he had made those comments before even entering the competition.

Fang Huai: “……”

“Mr. Fang?” The reporter had to raise their voice to get his attention. The interview was still ongoing.

Fang Huai slowly pulled his gaze back and deleted every response he had originally intended to say from his mind.

“Who will win the award?” He looked straight into the camera and smiled. “It should be me.”

The journalist hadn’t expected such a direct and unfiltered answer and froze for a moment.

“That’s quite straightforward,” they said, clearly skeptical. After a brief pause, they asked another question:

“This year, Jason Morick’s Sin is also in competition for the Silver Birch Award. Many online discussions suggest he has a strong chance of winning the Golden Tree trophy. What’s your opinion on that?”

Fang Huai didn’t immediately answer the question.

It was another early summer evening, and the award ceremony lights shone from a short distance away. The speakers were playing the nominated songs for this year’s competition.

Through the high-definition camera lens, the reporter could clearly capture—

Fang Huai’s smile fading slightly at the corners of his lips, his eyebrows arching ever so slightly, revealing an expression that could only be described as youthful arrogance—polite, yet tinged with a hint of condescension.

“No comment,” he said with a smile.

Then, with an air of complete confidence, he added—

“I’ll make sure he and his fans lose so thoroughly they won’t even be able to complain.”

The entire press area fell silent for three whole seconds.

And then—

The camera flashes erupted in a frenzy!

This was huge.

No one expected Fang Huai to be this unpredictable. With the awards still undecided, he didn’t leave any room for retreat—neither for himself nor for Jason. On the surface, such a response might seem brash, even impolite, but…

It was exhilarating.

Looking down on Chinese music?

Then let Jason experience firsthand what it’s like to be utterly crushed by a Chinese artist.

*

The short interview was included in the live broadcast, and within ten minutes, both the discussion topic and viewership ratings skyrocketed at a terrifying speed.

Previously, Jason had been mocking China’s music scene unilaterally, while the local industry, for some unspoken reason, refrained from making direct responses—at most, people would post a few subtle jabs on Weibo.

But Fang Huai’s direct clapback changed everything.

The tension had officially exploded.

[Oh my god, our boy really went all out.]

[Too badass?? Why am I feeling so hyped? I could replay this gif for ten years.]

[I don’t find it badass at all, just secondhand embarrassment. If he doesn’t win, he’s going to humiliate the entire nation.]

[I also think this was reckless. The Silver Birch Award is a domestic event, but the judging panel (excluding that recently disgraced chief judge) consists of international professionals. One of them has openly expressed admiration for Jason, and the overall bias leans toward him.]

[I’m camping here. I need to see who ends up getting embarrassed.]

The three TV stations broadcasting the Silver Birch Awards watched in real-time as viewership numbers surged, while the online stream’s audience count climbed past five million and kept rising.

Everyone knew—tonight was going to be interesting.

—

Inside the venue, Fang Huai sat down in his assigned seat alongside the Abyss Moonlight production team, positioned fairly close to the front.

Now that he had a moment to reflect, he realized he may have been a bit impulsive just now—but he didn’t regret it. His pulse was pounding in his ears, his blood was running hot, and for the first time, he felt genuinely nervous.

He had to win the Silver Birch Award.

Fang Huai lowered his head, palms slightly sweaty, and typed a message to Ye Yuyuan:

“Feeling a little nervous… also kinda bored. I miss you.”

Ye Yuyuan might have been busy—there was no immediate reply.

Fang Huai turned off his phone, then turned it back on. Then off. Then on again.

He unwrapped a lollipop and held it between his lips, absentmindedly using his phone screen as a makeshift flashlight, playing around with it.

[Hahahahaha my boy is so cute.]

[So he actually is nervous. I’ve never seen him like this before. Adorable.]

[Came here from Weibo—wait, this is his vibe???]

Suddenly, a commotion erupted at the entrance, and many people turned to look.

Fang Huai also glanced toward the doorway.

The moment his eyes landed on the scene, he froze for a second—

Then, without thinking, he stood up.

“Eh? Why is President Ye coming in?”

“Is he here to watch the awards ceremony? There’s an empty seat in the guest area, and it’s reserved for him.”

“Fang Huai, aren’t you on good terms with President Ye? Go say hello!”

Fang Huai did want to, but he could never stay calm in front of Ye Yuyuan. He always felt that if the camera caught him, everything would be exposed. So he hesitated again.

Ye Yuyuan was wearing a deep navy-blue suit, with the tie clip Fang Huai had given him. Fang Huai always thought that color suited him well, and the Windsor knot complemented him too—handsome yet composed.

He thought about it for a while and then suddenly stood up.

Standing beside Ye Yuyuan were two middle-aged men, seemingly city officials in charge of broadcasting and television in Nan City. Ye Yuyuan was noticeably taller than the two balding, beer-bellied men and was speaking to them with his eyes lowered.

As Fang Huai walked past, Ye Yuyuan’s conversation suddenly paused.

The live broadcast camera randomly captured the scene, clearly showing Ye Yuyuan nodding apologetically to the two officials before taking two steps forward. He politely patted Fang Huai on the left shoulder, signaling him to turn around.

Fang Huai: “?”

He turned slightly and met a pair of deep, jet-black eyes. Ye Yuyuan silently pointed at his tie.

[Although we can’t hear what they’re saying… Did President Ye just tell him to fix his tie because the knot was loose?]

[Was there some staged drama in Signal of the Heart? Their relationship seems pretty distant—they didn’t even greet each other while passing by.]

[Honestly, from the start, Fang Huai was just clinging to Ye Yuyuan for hype, chasing fame and fortune. President Ye isn’t stupid; of course, he distanced himself without making a fuss. So now, how is he planning to curry favor again?]

Ye Yuyuan rested his left hand on Fang Huai’s shoulder, his gaze lowering slightly as he pressed his thin lips together.

Fang Huai was still sucking on a lollipop—less neat than before, now carrying more of a milky scent. Ye Yuyuan’s eyes landed on the lollipop stick, and suddenly, he reached out and took it away.

Fang Huai: “???”

He touched the corner of his lips, dazed, and instinctively said: “It’s… milk-flavored candy. Do you want to try it?”

Bullet comments:

[?????]

[Huh?]

[?!]

Ye Yuyuan said nothing. After a moment, he asked in a low voice: “How should I try it?”

I have another one in my pocket. Fang Huai thought to himself, but before he could respond, the entire venue went dark—the awards ceremony was about to begin.

As his vision plunged into darkness, Fang Huai could immediately hear his own heartbeat pounding violently.

…How to try?

He couldn’t see anything. Closing his eyes, in the middle of the crowd, in the darkness—he and Ye Yuyuan shared a kiss.

The lollipop was indeed milk-flavored. The warmth of it spread sweetly between their lips and teeth.