Chapter 94
The Silver Birch Award for Best Singer was often referred to as the “Little Golden Tree Award.” In recent years, more and more people had come to assume that this award and the Golden Tree Award were practically a package deal.
Even though rationally speaking, everyone knew this wasn’t Fang Huai’s fault—judging panels always had unpredictable tastes—many still couldn’t hold back their disappointment. Various opinions flooded in like a tidal wave, even before the Golden Tree Award results were announced.
[I thought he was so confident before… almost like he knew he’d win in advance.]
[Embarrassed himself on an international stage.]
[Who was the one saying they’d accept defeat gracefully? Honestly, I doubt he even deserved Best Composer. Feels more like a consolation prize from the judges.]
[Some people need to stop being sore losers. First of all, the Golden Tree Award results aren’t out yet. Second, do you think Fang Huai wanted to lose? He’s probably more upset than anyone. And let’s be real—without him in the lineup, Jason might’ve swept all three major awards.]
Fortunately, the on-site media remained professional and refrained from reporting or stirring up controversy before the final Golden Tree Award results were revealed. While discussions and doubts raged outside, the awards venue itself was filled with a tense silence.
Jason stood triumphantly on stage, holding his Little Golden Squirrel trophy. Smug and sharp-tongued as ever, he launched into another round of thinly veiled mockery.
And this time, Fang Huai was the main target.
“I’d like to thank the judging panel, of course… but I must say, your country’s musicians are truly baffling.” Jason sneered. “They lack skill, lack discipline—it really makes one question the overall competence of your nation’s people.”
“I don’t think I said anything wrong. I sincerely hope your country’s musicians focus more on actual creation, instead of always looking for shortcuts. It’d be a shame to make a fool of yourselves.”
Jason glanced toward the venue entrance. Fang Huai still hadn’t returned. His smirk deepened.
After stepping off the stage, the media immediately swarmed him.
“I’d guess Fang Huai ran away with his tail between his legs,” Jason chuckled to the cameras. “Then again, there’s no need for him to come back—there aren’t any awards left for him to accept, after all.”
A blatant hint that he was certain to win the Golden Tree Award.
“Just what you’d expect from an inferior race,” Jason muttered to his assistant after receiving his award. He was in too good a mood to hold back. “Only people like them would act this way—uneducated cowards. Ha!”
Minute by minute, time ticked by.
Several more awards were handed out. One minor category was also won by Jason’s Sin, earning him yet another trip to the stage.
Now, the biggest award of the night—the Golden Tree Award—was about to be announced.
Once the Golden Tree Award was presented, the Silver Birch Award ceremony would officially conclude.
As always, there was a short break before the final announcement—a brief pause to let everyone catch their breath and give the judging panel a last moment to finalize their decision.
It was during this window that Fang Huai returned.
He had intended to slip back to his seat quietly.
But how could the waiting reporters possibly let him escape?
In an instant, they swarmed.
Ye Yuyuan and Fang Huai returned together. Before pushing open the glass door, some sharp-eyed reporters even caught sight of the two standing outside, their interactions undeniably intimate.
Through the glass door and curtain, the early summer night sky glittered with dazzling stars, and a gentle breeze swept past. The tall, silent man bent down, brushing aside the younger one’s bangs before kissing him from his forehead to the corner of his lips. Their kiss lingered for a long time.
As they entered, Fang Huai and Ye Yuyuan’s fingers were intertwined. Ye Yuyuan noticed the reporters and hesitated for a moment, about to let go. But before he could, Fang Huai tightened his grip, his thumb tracing the lines of Ye Yuyuan’s palm before finally releasing him.
Anyone with basic intelligence could tell what kind of relationship they had. But not a single reporter raised their camera. No one dared to take a photo.
Fang Huai had never been one to hide his love life. He was bold and open, and in the entertainment industry, his relationship was practically an open secret. Yet, no media outlet had ever dared to report on it.
If they didn’t announce it themselves, no one could break the news ahead of them.
“Mr. Fang, sorry to interrupt—may we ask you a few questions?”
Ye Yuyuan stood calmly beside him, expression indifferent, yet his quiet presence alone made the reporters extra cautious. They carefully considered their words before speaking.
“You may,” Fang Huai nodded.
Cameras were rolling, capturing every detail. The reporters took a quick look—Fang Huai’s eyes weren’t red, nor did he seem dejected. He hadn’t gone outside to cry. In fact, his demeanor was composed and elegant, exuding a quiet confidence.
“Do you question the Silver Birch Award’s Best Singer results?”
“Do you still have confidence in winning the Golden Tree Award, or has your perspective changed?”
“What are your thoughts on Jason’s remarks?”
Fang Huai listened for a moment, unsure which question to answer first. In the end, he sighed slightly and said, “Time is tight, so let me answer everything at once, is that alright?”
“I have no objections to the judging panel’s decision. Art has no borders, and aesthetics are inherently subjective.”
A faint smile lifted the corners of his lips. His light amber eyes gleamed under the hallway lights—clear, unwavering, fearless. He looked directly into the cameras, pausing briefly before stating:
“But the Golden Tree Award—I will win it.”
The media: “…”
The cameras kept rolling, while the journalists exchanged puzzled expressions.
He hadn’t even won Best Singer—where was this confidence coming from?
Was he just putting on a brave front?
“…Why do you think so?” one hesitant reporter asked. “Mr. Fang, as you know, for the past four years, the Golden Tree Award and Best Singer have always gone to the same person.”
“Is that so?”
Fang Huai chuckled, unconcerned. He didn’t care whether they believed him or not. He simply looked into the camera and said:
“China is far better than many people imagine. Whether it’s music or anything else, everything is growing.” He chose his words carefully, then added, “I love my country.”
Jason was merely a reflection of how a small portion of people overseas viewed China.
Just like what Fang Huai had witnessed while filming The Song of the Nameless, discrimination and malice had never truly disappeared—they were still festering, still spreading. These people had never seen the truth. They understood nothing.
To call an entire nation an “inferior race”—that was already repulsive. And Fang Huai had heard far worse before.
But none of it was true.
Fang Huai lowered his gaze.
When he looked up again, his brows had relaxed, the corners of his eyes lifted slightly, and a faint smile touched his lips. With unwavering seriousness, he said:
“And also…
“I’m better than Jason Morric. Abyss Moonlight is better than Sin.
“The Golden Tree Award will only be mine—it will only belong to the people of China. The Chinese music industry is great, and I hope it soars high.”
The reporters were speechless.
His words seemed irrational, yet he spoke them with such conviction, with absolute certainty.
His words weren’t elaborate or poetic, but they carried a kind of passion—like the beacon fires burning atop endless mountain ranges, like the blood that once seeped into the soil, now flowing warm again after years of dormancy. Bit by bit, they rekindled a spirit, a belief that shone with brilliance.
He believed in himself.
He believed in his country.
And he loved him.
Just as he finished speaking, the music signaling the final award announcement began. The media interview had to end, and everyone returned to their seats.
Yet, this short video spread online. Quietly, it climbed to the “hot” ranking under the hashtag #SilverBirchAwardsCeremony, its shares accumulating little by little—until it exploded in exponential growth.
[His words are simple, but for some reason, my nose feels a little sore.]
[Why is he still being so stubborn? And why drag the country into this? So dramatic.]
[Stop being a buzzkill. Fang Huai, go for it—whether you win or not!]
[Actually, he’s not wrong. We are growing, little by little. The domestic music scene still has a long way to go, but it’s improving overall. Isn’t Duan Yang here? Isn’t Fang Huai here? It’ll only get better. And what’s wrong with loving your country?]
[I’m done overthinking. No matter what happens… Chinese music industry, soar high for me!!!]
A few fan leaders got together, and soon, the final rallying cry for the Silver Birch Awards was born:
#ChineseMusicIndustry, SoarHighForMe!#
In the final twenty minutes before the award announcement, countless people waited—nervous, restless, not daring to hope but still wishing for a miracle. And more and more people joined in, sharing and spreading the message.
The Chinese music industry had been asleep for far too long.
They weren’t lacking in talent. They had brilliant artists, extraordinary works. But in past years, the industry had been swept away by a wave of commercial trends, and in that tide, many genuine sighs and frustrations had been drowned out—lost in the depths.
True pearls had been trampled into dust.
And mere sand had been polished into jewels, mass-produced and shipped out like factory goods.
But they had once experienced a golden era.
And more than anyone, they longed for the Chinese music industry to once again rise to the very top—to touch the vast blue sky, to force all those who had scorned and belittled them to open their eyes and truly see.
They hoped that this Golden Tree Award would serve as a turning point, a prelude to spreading their wings, an opportunity for those with prejudice to reconsider and truly recognize this industry.
As the lights dimmed to signal the award announcement, countless people instinctively gripped their phones.
Their heartbeats resonated in the darkness, merging into a single rhythm. Breath and pulse aligned—
They hoped it would… soar high!
*
Jason, with his signature rooster-red hair, sat with his legs crossed, watching the stage with absolute confidence.
He was certain that he would win the Golden Tree Award—there was no doubt about it.
It wasn’t about cheating or manipulation; he simply believed he was superior to Fang Huai. On top of that, there was a judge on the panel who had always been a fan of his work.
Jason hadn’t regarded any of the other nominees as competition—not even Fang Huai.
For him, the Silver Birch Award was just a stepping stone. He had already received insider news that Sin had failed to qualify for the prestigious Seahorse Awards, the most globally influential accolade. His manager had advised him to collect more trophies to boost his portfolio before attempting the challenge again next year.
But when the lights went out, an inexplicable unease suddenly settled over him.
A strange sense of agitation crept in, like something was stuck in his throat, making it impossible to sit still.
The stage lights came back on.
Last year’s Golden Tree Award winner stood on stage holding the envelope. She was a Chinese singer, in her late thirties or early forties, with fine lines at the corners of her eyes.
She was clearly nervous—so much so that her eyes were red-rimmed. She hadn’t opened the envelope in advance. In fact, just moments before stepping on stage, she had been scrolling through Weibo.
She, too, hoped for the Chinese music industry to soar. She wasn’t any less invested than anyone else in the room—perhaps even more so. She was more nervous now than she had been when she won the award herself last year.
Her hands trembled as she tried to tear open the envelope. It took her a full thirty seconds to finally manage it. But no one rushed her.
The entire hall was wrapped in an overwhelming silence—so tight and stretched that no one knew whether it would break into the dawn’s first light or collapse into a raging storm.
“…Sorry.”
She didn’t immediately look at the name on the card. Instead, she closed her eyes, bringing the microphone closer.
“I…”
In the darkness, Fang Huai reached for Ye Yuyuan’s hand.
He didn’t say anything—his heartbeat was too fast, his breaths so unsteady that they almost sparked with electricity.
He was terrified.
His ears were ringing slightly, and the world around him seemed to sway.
Ye Yuyuan tightened his grip around Fang Huai’s hand. After a moment of silence, he reached up and gently pressed Fang Huai’s eyes closed, leaving a soft kiss on his eyelids.
“You will soar,” he whispered. “Don’t be afraid. I love you.”
On stage, the singer finally opened her eyes.
With a microphone in one hand and the card in the other, her face froze the moment she saw the name.
Everyone’s heart clenched as they held their breath.
The next moment, tears rolled down the female singer’s cheeks.
In an indescribable silence, she gripped the microphone and choked out:
“Now, I announce—the winner of the 74th Silver Birch Awards, Golden Tree Prize for Best Album is—”
The single spotlight on stage went dark.
Unlike before, this time, the climax of the entire song played directly.
Countless tides rose and fell, the cycle of life and death repeating endlessly for all living things and the passage of time. Silent yet burning-hot blood flowed into the depths of the sea, sinking lower and lower into the silence until—
It reached the deepest, darkest part of the ocean, where endless stars flickered above.
The interwoven notes roared in the ears, fireworks bursting into the sky, torrential rain mixed with fire sweeping through, revealing the dazzling colors hidden beneath the dust. Carrying the weight of all the world’s sighs, it pressed forward—a grand symphony of life rising from death.
Accompanying this was the female singer’s trembling voice. It took her several attempts to calm her emotions before she could speak clearly:
“—Abyssal Moonlight, Fang Huai!”
What a triumph. Even though I knew it I’m so satisfied