Chapter 57: "Listening" (Double Chapter)

August 14th—a truly auspicious day. On the corner of Zuo Qiu’s desk calendar, this date had been circled with a bold stroke of red ink.

Five minutes remained. At midnight, the album would officially go live. Zuo Qiu fiddled with the photograph in his hand, whispering, “Dad, are you watching?”

Time slipped by in silence, and as the final seconds ticked away, Zhou Miao’s debut album, *Listen*, finally shifted from a dormant gray to a vibrant, playable color on every major website.

Those who had pre-ordered could instantly enjoy every track. They put on their headphones, opened the album directory, and clicked to play the first song—“Lovely Woman.”

With the opening “wo~”, the Chinese music industry stepped into a new era.

At that moment, Zhou Miao was not checking Weibo or sales figures. In the stillness of the night, he sat in the dark at his piano, playing again and again, as if only music could suppress the turbulence within his heart.

His thoughts were a tangled mess, emotions running wild through his mind—excitement mingled with fear. He didn’t know whether, after his reinterpretation, these classic songs would shine as brilliantly in this world as they had in the one before.

Had the tweaks and changes he’d made to the music been embellishments, or had they ruined the originals?

His heart was in chaos, and so too was his playing. By the end, he no longer knew what tune his fingers conjured; he simply hammered the keys in near-despair.

A sudden loud bang came from upstairs, followed by a sharp female voice: “Are you insane? Who plays the piano at this hour? Don’t you care about the neighbors? People have work tomorrow!”

Zhou Miao paused, panting lightly. After such a scolding, he could hardly continue. Sprawling weakly on the sofa, he picked up his phone and, almost involuntarily, opened his chat with Hu San.

“Are you asleep?” He glanced at the clock after sending the message. It was already half past midnight—she was surely asleep.

But less than a minute later, a video call from Hu San popped up.

Zhou Miao answered. On the other end, Hu San lounged against her headboard, dressed in pink pajamas, face bare, hair draped loosely about her shoulders—she looked softer, more feminine than usual.

“Why are you sitting in the dark?” she asked, noticing his unlit room.

“I forgot to turn on the light.”

“Oh... By the way, I just listened to your new album.”

“How did you like it?”

“If ‘Lovely Woman,’ ‘Simple Love,’ and ‘Sun and Moon in My Heart’ were written for me, then it’s a perfect score. If not, then zero!” Hu San wrinkled her nose in mock threat.

Zhou Miao burst out laughing. Hu San always knew how to make him smile. “Do you really think you’re that cute?”

She straightened her face in feigned seriousness. “Am I not cute? Am I not good-looking?”

“And don’t think I didn’t notice—the line, ‘Beautiful enough to make me blush, lovely woman,’ was clearly about me! Hmph!”

Zhou Miao could only surrender. “Yes, yes, you’re right. Happy now?”

Only then did Hu San let out a satisfied hum, flopping over onto her side. She turned off her lamp too, and together they drifted into shared darkness, as if occupying the same space.

After a pause, she asked, “Is your mind still racing? Worried about how people will judge you?”

“...Yeah.” Zhou Miao didn’t pretend in front of her.

“It’s okay. Believe in yourself. This album is going to be a massive hit—you’re Zhou Miao, after all!” Her words were full of reassurance.

It was the first time Zhou Miao had shown such vulnerability before her. In the past, he’d always acted unshakeable, unafraid of anything. Her heart ached a little for him.

He managed a faint smile. “Aren’t you worried that once I’m famous, I’ll start looking for other girls?”

She snorted in mock disdain. “Is there anyone cuter and prettier than me in the whole world? Who am I? I’m Hu San!”

...

The video call lasted over an hour—so long that Hu San fell asleep, drooling a little.

Zhou Miao watched her peaceful face, feeling his own heart settle. “She sleeps just like a little pig.”

“Hey!” Zhou Miao suddenly shouted, startling Hu San awake with a jolt.

Laughing, he hung up. Hu San, exasperated, jabbed at her screen. “You’re so annoying!”

The release of *Listen* was like dropping a depth charge into the stagnant pond of Chinese pop music.

The album’s quality was so high that countless producers were left in awe. If not for the album cover, many would have mistaken it for a greatest hits collection from the past decade.

But reality was even more astonishing: this was the debut album of a newcomer who’d been on the scene less than a year!

Even more impressive—every song on the album was written, composed, arranged, and produced by Zhou Miao himself.

Genius was no longer a sufficient word; “monster” was more like it.

While the producers dissected the tracks, the general audience had a simpler verdict: “God-tier album.”

Usually, if a singer releases an album, having one listenable song out of ten is already commendable. But with Zhou Miao’s album, there wasn’t a single weak track.

Most stunning of all, check any major music app’s charts—from number one through ten, every slot was filled by one name: Zhou Miao.

Not a single competitor from the batch of new releases could make a dent; all ten chart spots were locked in a battle among Zhou Miao’s own songs.

Apart from “Sweet” and the previously released “Fragrant Rice,” all the other tracks were pay-to-listen.

On its first official day, Zhou Miao achieved an unprecedented sweep of the charts.

That very day, Lin Jianxiang, a legendary singer and leader from the golden age of Mandopop, posted a lengthy article titled, “The Worst of Times Has Brought Us the Best Singer.”

“This morning, my agent sent me a message: there’s a remarkable new talent in the industry, and his debut album is worth a listen.

I looked—and it was Zhou Miao! Did people think I’d stopped keeping up with music? I’ve heard his earlier songs too.

Since ‘Fragrant Rice,’ I’ve been paying attention. There aren’t many young people like him in today’s music scene. I listened to his debut album and was deeply moved, hence this piece.

I must say, this is a truly extravagant album. Each song could stand alone as the highlight of an album, yet Zhou Miao, in his boldness, has gathered them all together.

From an industry perspective, this is unwise. Promotional resources are limited—you can only push one or two songs, and the rest risk being buried.

Furthermore, if he’d released one song per year, he could have stayed at the top for a decade. By putting them all out at once, he’s burning through his inspiration.

But it’s precisely because of Zhou Miao’s boldness and confidence, his relentless pursuit of musical excellence, that we’re fortunate enough to witness such a sincere album.

The first track, ‘Lovely Woman,’ is seamless in both lyrics and melody. The unique phrasing and infectious rhythm offer a delightful experience—it's been a long time since I’ve heard such a pleasant love song. His singing is passionate, sweet but never cloying.

The second, ‘Simple Love’—I suspect Zhou Miao is in love. It’s a youthful, innocent ballad that makes you recall the feeling of first love. It’s the kind of song you want to savor with eyes closed, and even at my age, it stirs my heart.

The third, ‘Nunchucks’—a perfect blend of rock and hardcore rap. Zhou Miao’s rhythmic talent shines brilliantly here; the lyrics are vivid and crisp, brimming with coolness.

I listened to this track’s arrangement repeatedly. I have to say, when it comes to fusing Western and traditional instruments, Zhou Miao is unmatched in this country.

Especially that sudden piano solo amid the fierce guitar and drum section—it brings an instant hush, so imaginative!

...

To see such an album emerge in today’s music scene fills me with both joy and regret.

Though I hate to admit it, Mandopop truly has fallen. The reasons are many.

People now have so many ways to entertain themselves: social media, short videos, live streams, games. There’s less and less time for music—even I haven’t sat down to listen to a song seriously in ages.

Fewer listeners means fewer singers. Artists need to eat too, so they chase variety shows or act in films. How many pop stars have vanished from music after turning to the movies?

If Zhou Miao had been born twenty years earlier, in the golden age of pop, I believe he would have achieved greatness. With the best environment, the best audience, and his talent and looks, women all over Asia would have gone mad for him.

Finally, regarding this album—I don’t think even Zhou Miao himself will ever surpass this peak. So let me advertise for him: if you love music, don’t miss this album. Trust me, it will not disappoint.”

Lin Jianxiang’s thousands of words were a glowing endorsement, and his influence among music lovers was profound.

Countless people, curious after his recommendation, spent twenty yuan to see what this old superstar had praised so highly.

And once they listened, they couldn’t stop.

With the support of industry professionals and excellent word of mouth, album sales exploded. In the first week, sales exceeded three million copies, and the average purchase rate was only 1.007 per person—proof that most buyers were casual listeners.

Unlike the top idols who sell massive numbers but with each fan buying hundreds of copies.

The five thousand physical albums, priced at 120 yuan, sold out instantly, fans and casual buyers offering extra money for a copy. On Xianyu, scalpers were selling them for over three thousand each.

Seeing this, Zuo Qiu quickly opened pre-orders for the physical album and notified the factory to work overtime.

In today’s world, when something’s hot, you see it everywhere.

Hu San opened Weibo—everywhere, people were discussing the album. On Douyin, all sorts of videos used Zhou Miao’s songs as background music. Her social feeds were filled with creative recommendations of *Listen*.

Inspired, Hu San posted: “The guy who got chased by dogs on *Metamorphosis* just released an album. Have you listened yet?”

In no time, she racked up dozens of likes. Zhou Miao commented beneath: “Just you wait!”

With nothing to do, Zhou Miao went to chat with Cumin. His assistant, Yang Xiaoya, was more obsessed with the sales figures than he was, refreshing the page every few minutes.

She clicked her tongue in admiration. “Miao, you’re making at least tens of millions from this album. Have you thought about how you’ll spend the money?”

Zhou Miao lounged in his chair like a king. “As soon as the money arrives, the first thing I’ll do is give my assistant a bonus.”

Yang Xiaoya’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Just kidding.”

“Hmph!” She pouted. “I’m being serious!”

In truth, Zhou Miao hadn’t given it much thought. After a moment’s consideration, he said, “I want to use part of it to set up a congenital heart disease relief fund.”

“Charity, that’s great. But why congenital heart disease?” Yang Xiaoya asked curiously.

Zhou Miao was silent for a moment. “A neighbor’s kid once had it. It was heartbreaking.”

She nodded. “What about something for yourself? Like a sports car?”

The thought of a sports car tempted him—what guy doesn’t want one? “Maybe someday. I don’t even have a license yet.”

Cumin sighed. “At eighteen, you’re a superstar, a top creator, and a multimillionaire. Meanwhile, I’m pushing forty and can’t even afford an apartment in Beijing.”

After *Listen* went viral, Zhou Miao’s life changed dramatically. Reporters were now fixtures outside his company’s building.

Fans had even tracked down his home address, knocking on his door late at night. The strangest were the professional “site sisters” who followed him everywhere, snapping photos.

They weren’t even his fans; they just wanted to sell his pictures. At first, Zhou Miao was baffled—was it really worth so much effort?

A few days later, he found his candid photos compiled into glossy street style magazines on Taobao, selling for forty-nine yuan each, with tens of thousands sold.

None of these magazines were authorized by him; every photo was taken by those site sisters, who even thoughtfully retouched them.

Zuo Qiu explained that this was a quirky industry chain in showbiz; some site sisters made enough from star photos to buy houses. You couldn’t stop them, and you couldn’t hide—best get used to it.

Fame had its perks, but also its headaches. Zhou Miao was already sick of the obsessive stalkers. If they weren’t all women, he might have tried to beat them up.

Fortunately, these days would soon come to an end. The Central Conservatory was about to start, and he was about to become a university student—proud and new.