Chapter 95
“Abyssal Moonlight, Fang Huai!”
The entire venue fell into a stunned silence for more than ten seconds. Only the surrounding speakers continued to boom with the melody.
It was as if no one knew how to process this reality, as if the joy had arrived too suddenly, making them question whether it was a dream—
Even the media was frozen in shock.
“Fang Huai,” many people murmured. “Fang Huai…?”
Backstage, the jury’s debate over the Golden Tree Award had only ended five minutes ago. The head judge took off his glasses, smiled slightly, and turned to leave.
In the bustling city center at night, countless people came to a halt, staring in disbelief at their phone screens. Signals wove together like butterfly wings, spreading the news worldwide, stirring up a hurricane in the shadows.
Yet at the eye of the storm, there was only silence.
In the audience below the stage, the silence stretched, like water on the verge of boiling—until, finally, it erupted—
The winner of the Golden Tree Award was Fang Huai!
Social media exploded simultaneously.
Weibo crashed under the geometric surge in traffic.
The name “Fang Huai” once again dominated public attention within minutes, even drawing the gaze of numerous foreign media outlets to this exceptionally young Chinese musician.
[Oh my god.]
[#FangHuai GoldenTreeAward#, youngest winner in history, breaking a four-year streak.]
[Fly high, fly high!!!]
[Crying, crying, crying—but isn’t that rooster-head guy about to throw a tantrum?]
It wasn’t until the chorus of Abyssal Moonlight finished playing that the award ceremony music officially began. A spotlight cut through the crowd—
An eighteen-year-old Chinese boy stood quietly in its center.
TV ratings skyrocketed. Online livestream viewers broke records.
Fang Huai stood at the very center of the country’s—no, the world’s—attention.
He was tall and slender, with a clean and striking handsomeness. His skin was fair, his youth almost excessive, and his eyes were slightly red.
Silently, he met the gaze of all the cameras and all the people watching him, then bowed deeply to the stage.
Only then did he step forward under the guidance of the spotlight.
The award-presenting female singer hugged him with tears in her eyes, and the cameras captured the moment.
“Thank you to the judging panel—”
Fang Huai had only spoken half a sentence before being interrupted by cheers and applause so loud they nearly lifted the roof.
It was as if many in the audience were only now truly processing the fact that Fang Huai had won. This wasn’t a dream:
“Fang Huai!!”
“Mandarin music scene, charge forward!!”
“You guys are the best!!!”
“Thank you,” Fang Huai smiled and continued, “I still want to thank—”
Once again, he was interrupted by cheers.
His first sentence was cut off three times in a row before he could finally speak smoothly.
Not long ago, Fang Huai had already stood on this stage to give his acceptance speech for Best Composer, but this moment felt entirely different. He spoke slowly, pausing occasionally to gather his thoughts, but everyone listened intently.
“If it were just me alone, I wouldn’t have made it here,” the young man’s voice was clear and steady. The speech he had originally prepared had been completely forgotten in the overwhelming rush of emotions, so he could only speak thoughtfully from the heart. “Thank you to my friends, thank you to everyone who has listened to Abyssal Moonlight.”
“Thank you to my…” Fang Huai paused, his gaze sweeping across the thousands of people in the audience before he continued, “…my lover.”
He could always find Ye Yuyuan in a crowd.
No matter how vast the sea of people, he could always lock eyes with him.
Ye Yuyuan was always composed and gentle, watching him silently from start to finish.
And through all the unexpected hardships and struggles, he had always walked toward him.
Audience: “…”
Media: “…………”
Everyone froze. Some people widened their eyes in shock.
“My lover is a great person. If there’s an opportunity in the future, I’d love to introduce him to you all,” Fang Huai said, meeting Ye Yuyuan’s gaze in the crowd. He couldn’t help but smile as he added, “We started dating young, but with marriage as the goal. It’s legal, kids—don’t imitate me.”
Audience: “HAHAHAHAHAHA!”
The overly serious atmosphere instantly lightened, but the revelation still left a lasting impact on many.
No one noticed the stern, aloof man in the crowd quietly blushing at the tips of his ears.
Fang Huai lightly tapped the microphone, moving past the topic swiftly as he said:
“And lastly, thank you to my country. I love her.”
Fang Huai hadn’t read many books and wasn’t one for grand, eloquent speeches. He didn’t have the effortless charisma of a great orator.
“Fang Huai – Abyssal Moonlight“
“We will only get better and better,” he said at last. “Let the whole world open its eyes and see.”
Let all discrimination fade away.
Let all the harsh, scornful words fall into silence.
Let glaciers melt, permafrost thaw, and let the blood and flames of years-long struggles burn and flow once more.
When Fang Huai finished speaking, he lowered his gaze and bent down to kiss the national flag on the stage.
The single spotlight cast its glow on his eyelashes, like the delicate wings of a butterfly filled with the glimmer of distant stars—ready to rise with the wind and take flight.
Countless journalists pressed their shutters, capturing this moment—a scene so unique, so inexplicably moving.
[ We really will only get better and better!]
[ Wait, wait, was he serious about having a lover??? Girlfriend fans are crying.]
[ Listening from overseas, this really hits different. Things have improved so much back home, but living abroad makes you realize just how deep discrimination runs…]
Everything had gone smoothly up to this point.
And then—
A figure in the audience suddenly shot up from his seat.
Jason, his fire-red, rooster-like hair standing out in the crowd, could no longer hold himself back. His expression was utterly sour, even slightly contorted. Without warning, he grabbed a microphone and spat out:
“When you say ‘getting better,’ do you mean winning awards through backdoor deals and shady connections? Pardon my bluntness, but I haven’t seen a single admirable quality from you people—only disgrace, inferiority, and filth.”
The audience erupted in shock.
Fang Huai stood still for a moment. His lips flattened as he looked at Jason and asked calmly, “So, what is it that you want?”
Jason didn’t answer directly. Instead, he turned to face the cameras and spewed venomous accusations:
“Anyone who’s listened to both Abyssal Moonlight and Sin knows that Sin is leagues ahead. The global sales numbers crush Abyssal Moonlight several times over—isn’t that proof?”
“Seventy percent of the Silver Birch Awards judging panel consists of those garbage Chinese, who conspired together to hand this bastard an easy win. Isn’t that proof? And then there’s this pretty-faced—”
—CEO boyfriend.
Jason, smug and triumphant, latched onto what he thought was a damning scandal.
But just as he was about to say it out loud, something suddenly clogged his throat.
His eyes bulged slightly, his mouth hung open, yet an invisible, suffocating pressure stuffed his voice back down. He couldn’t utter another word.
The entire venue fell into dead silence. The second hand on the clock ticked forward.
Fang Huai closed his eyes briefly, let out a slow breath, and was just about to speak—
When suddenly, someone in the front row of the audience stood up.
It was a musician, last year’s Best Composition winner. All eyes turned to him.
“Foreign media…” The musician clutched his phone, double-checking the screen again and again, his voice tinged with disbelief. “The foreign press just released the Seahorse Award nomination list.”
The Seahorse Awards—the most prestigious honor in the global music industry. The awards that had created legends, representing the highest and most official recognition of musical talent and ability.
For the past decade, not a single Chinese artist had won. Not a single one had even made it to the nominee list.
Last year, Duan Yang should have been nominated, but he missed the submission deadline.
So what did the Seahorse nominations have to do with anything?
People were confused.
And then, in the next instant, they understood.
On the official nomination list, scanned from top to bottom, the third row stood out in bold English letters:
“Fang Huai – Abyssal Moonlight“
“China: Abyssal Moonlight, Fang Huai.”
[Holy sh*t…]
[Holy sh*t +1]
[Aaaaaahhh??!]
Almost everyone knew that Jason had aggressively submitted his work for the competition this year—yet his name was nowhere to be found on the list.
It was crystal clear who the industry truly recognized.
Jason’s face instantly darkened.
Everyone: “……”
They had seen people get humiliated before, but never this quickly, this brutally. This was the kind of self-inflicted humiliation that left no room for rebuttal.
Weibo nearly crashed again from the surge of reactions.
*
One Month Later
“I don’t really know, um,” Fang Huai said to the reporters gathered at the door. “The Seahorse Award nomination was a surprise… As for my relationship, no comment for now. Sorry.”
For the past month, Fang Huai had been relentlessly hounded by the media. He had more or less become numb to the flashing lights and cameras.
A lot had happened during that time.
For instance, Jason’s past racist remarks and history of drug use had been exposed—he was currently sitting in a detention cell. Frost had officially been submitted to Cannes and would be getting a release date soon. And the rough cut of Untitled Melody was finally completed.
Fang Huai had watched the rough cut of The Song of the Nameless. It was four hours long and not yet fully edited.
After watching it, he thought—he could start preparing his proposal now.
His plan? To come out publicly at the same time he won an Oscar.
He wasn’t being arrogant—The Song of the Nameless was a guaranteed Oscar winner. The only question was which category.
But… there were still a few things to confirm.
Fang Huai unlocked the door and stepped inside, carrying a bag filled with books and documents. A bouquet of roses and baby’s breath peeked out from the side.
The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom—Ye Yuyuan was taking a shower.
Since the Silver Birch Awards, it had been a whirlwind of promotions and events, and they had only just gotten a break.
In truth, Fang Huai wasn’t entirely sure how to handle this downtime—he wasn’t ready to face Lin Shuheng’s notes.
But he had to, eventually.
Just earlier, he had been in a meeting for a documentary series. It wasn’t an entertainment show but an educational one, set to air on CCTV.
The program was called Interpretation.
Its goal was to uncover the true history behind important figures and correct misconceptions. Soon, they would be doing an episode on Lin Shuheng.
The production team had invited Fang Huai to be a special guest. This episode’s format was particularly innovative, and he was interested in participating.
But he hadn’t signed the contract yet—he still needed to check if his schedule would allow it.
Beyond that…
Fang Huai scanned his fingerprint and stepped inside, catching his reflection in the entryway mirror.
He had grown a few centimeters since moving to the city—he was probably around 182 or 183 cm now. But his features still had that youthful softness; they hadn’t matured into the sharp, defined look he had hoped for.
Lifting his shirt slightly, he examined his abdomen. It was firm, with faintly visible abs—not as defined as he wanted.
He wasn’t satisfied.
It felt as though he had stayed the same for years, frozen in time.
Was it just his imagination?
Fang Huai was starting to wonder—was the flow of time the same for him as it was for everyone else?
Sitting in the living room with a bag of chips, he waited another twenty minutes.
Ye Yuyuan still hadn’t come out.
The water temperature must have been high—white steam was seeping through the cracks of the bathroom door.
Fang Huai raised an eyebrow, puzzled.
After a moment of hesitation, he walked over and knocked on the door.
“Teacher Ye, I’m back. Are you… alright?”
A long pause.
Then, through the thick humidity, a voice—low and slightly hoarse—drifted out, “I’m fine.”
Fang Huai: “……?”
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“No.” Ye Yuyuan answered quickly.
He paused, then carefully, with great restraint, added:
“Huaihuai, if you’re hungry, there’s food on the table.”
“Oh, okay.”
Fang Huai took a couple of steps away, then hesitated and came back to knock on the bathroom door again.
“Then… do you want me to kiss you?”
Ye Yuyuan: “……”
His eyes lowered slightly, lips pressing together.
He had already planned to refuse, but his voice betrayed his mind.
So, Fang Huai heard him respond—reserved yet quick, “Okay.”
Fang Huai pushed open the door. Warm steam, tinged with the faint scent of cedarwood, rolled out—it was thick, slightly sweet.
Ye Yuyuan stood under the shower. He was tall. Outside, the sky had completely darkened, and he hadn’t turned on the light.
Yet Fang Huai still immediately noticed—
His abs.
Defined, not exaggerated like a bodybuilder’s, but firm and strong. His entire physique was impeccable—broad shoulders, narrow waist, a model’s build. From his back down to his waist, the lines were as smooth as—something Fang Huai couldn’t even put into words.
Fang Huai: “……”
A small pang of jealousy crept into his heart.
Ye Yuyuan waited in silence for a moment, then suddenly stepped forward, closing the bathroom door with one hand before leaning down to kiss him.
Five minutes later, Fang Huai made a request.
“Can I touch your abs?” He thought for a second, then added, “Just once.”
Ye Yuyuan: “……”
He clasped his hands behind his back, struggling to suppress something. If Fang Huai had opened his eyes at that moment, he would have noticed his boyfriend’s pupils flickering—shifting between vertical slits and normal round pupils, reflecting a faint metallic sheen.
“No.” Ye Yuyuan said in a low voice.
But Fang Huai had already reached out and touched them.
Ye Yuyuan’s back immediately tensed, his breath hitching.
Afterward, Fang Huai felt even more jealous.
He wondered if he started working out now, would he look like this in a few years?
Seemed unlikely.