Chapter 86: Cultivation of Character

When Zhou Miao drew this topic, Lin Zekai immediately frowned. Although their direct confrontation on this stage was inevitable, the subject was a bit too sensitive; choosing the wrong song could easily spark controversy.

He didn’t want to have a public falling out with Zhou Miao on stage—not only would it be undignified, but he wasn’t even sure he’d win such a spat.

So, during Qian Jin’s interview, he said, “In my eyes, Zhou Miao has always been an impressive, creative singer-songwriter. I really like all his songs. I think we’re quite similar in some ways, like how seriously we both treat music…”

At that moment, the camera cut over to Zhou Miao, who, upon hearing the comment, frowned slightly, raising one eyebrow and looking at Lin Zekai with a puzzled expression, as if to say, “What is this guy even talking about?”

Netizens burst into laughter at Zhou Miao’s reaction—it was far too blunt, not even bothering to pretend. Truly, it was Zhou Miao’s style.

“Zhou Miao: Are you shading me or boosting yourself?”

“Haha, I can’t wait for next week’s match!”

“Miao’s expression is just too genuine.”

…

After interviewing Lin Zekai, Qian Jin turned the microphone to Zhou Miao. “Zhou Miao, what kind of person is Lin Zekai in your eyes?”

Zhou Miao scratched his face expressionlessly. “Uh, I think… he’s a very cultured person.”

Lin Zekai smiled modestly at this, feeling reassured. How pleasant it would be if things stayed cordial—mutual praise only brings mutual benefit.

Zhou Miao’s description was rather vague, so Qian Jin pressed him, “Can you be more specific?”

“Well… for example, even if he really dislikes someone, he’ll still go out of his way to praise them in public. I could never do that, so I actually admire him for it,” Zhou Miao said earnestly.

“Wow!”

The entire audience was stunned by Zhou Miao’s comment.

Lin Zekai had just complimented him, and Zhou Miao immediately said something like this—wasn’t he just implying that Lin Zekai was a master of putting on airs?

Lin Zekai forced his smile, pretending he hadn’t caught the implication. In reality, his hand behind his back was nearly crushing the microphone.

Zhou Miao! Damn you!

Qian Jin’s scalp tingled at Zhou Miao’s remark—there was simply no way to respond, so she hurriedly changed the subject.

Meanwhile, Huiyuan, who had already fallen out of favor, burst out laughing in the lounge, but seeing the camera quickly switched to a serious face, biting her finger to feign solemnity.

Ah! Finally, someone else knows how I feel. What should I do? I really want to laugh.

After the second episode of “Battle atop the Forbidden City,” the entire trending list on Weibo was completely dominated.

First, the performances were simply explosive—whether it was Huang Chengxi’s resurrection of the Old Cat or Zhou Miao’s “Wheat Waves,” both were instant classics.

And the fiery post-performance interviews were especially thrilling—the show hadn’t even ended, yet fans of Zhou Miao and Lin Zekai were already tearing each other apart.

After just two episodes, “Battle atop the Forbidden City” had become this year’s phenomenon, with unprecedented popularity. All eight guests saw their fanbase skyrocket!

Zhou Miao’s fans, who had struggled for months to climb the super-topic rankings, were instantly overtaken by a surge of new admirers, leaving the fan club president collapsed on the floor.

This program really brought Zhou Miao countless fans. His work was one reason, but his personality was truly unique!

Those who disliked him really couldn’t stand him; those who liked him were utterly devoted.

It seemed there was no one Zhou Miao dared not roast. If he didn’t like you, he’d say it straight—laughing, ranting, never hiding his feelings.

So many people dreamed of being like Zhou Miao, but in the end, they all became Lin Zekai—taking a slap in public and awkwardly keeping their smile.

After the show, Zhou Miao and his band headed straight to the hotel where they’d already booked a private room.

During dinner, Zhao Li was still savoring “Wheat Waves.” As a singer, to have a signature song like this—dying would be worth it.

Perhaps even after she was gone, this song would still be sung by countless fans.

“Miao, can I put this song on my debut album?” Zhao Li asked timidly.

Zhou Miao replied with a smile, “Sure, whether it’s a duet or solo is up to you. I wasn’t planning to include it in my next album anyway.”

Although “Wheat Waves” was a classic, its lyrics and melody carried a certain vintage feel. It was fine for a performance, but forcing it into a formal album would feel out of place.

It would be like a woman in a cheongsam standing among girls in school uniforms—far too conspicuous.

Zhao Li didn’t think that far—having a song to sing was already a blessing. Unified style? What’s that? Can you eat it?

Zhao Li happily raised her glass. “Thank you, Miao!”

A senior at the table asked curiously, “What song are you planning for next week? Do you need our help?”

Zhou Miao waved her off. “No need, I’m already very grateful everyone helped me this time. I wouldn’t dare trouble you again. I haven’t decided on the song yet, but it probably won’t require the band.”

Everyone felt a bit disappointed at that—opportunities to perform on TV were rare, especially on such a popular show.

The senior sighed, then raised her glass. “Very well, then let’s toast in advance: crush Lin Zekai and win the championship!”

“Crush Lin Zekai! Win the championship!” The students from Central Conservatory raised their glasses and shouted.

Zhou Miao could only smile and raise his glass as well. “Cheers!”

Late at night, Zhou Miao returned home, exhausted, only to find the lights still on. On the sofa, Hu San was cuddling Milk Candy and fast asleep.

Zhou Miao squatted beside her, gently pinched her cheek. Hu San woke up groggily, saw Zhou Miao, and sleepily asked, “Why are you back so late? Have you eaten? I’ll warm up your food.”

Zhou Miao stopped her. “I’ve eaten. When did you come?”

Hu San rested her head on his shoulder. “I came this afternoon. I washed your clothes, tidied up the place. You’re such a slob—so many surfaces, just one swipe and it’s all dust.”

Zhou Miao truly was lazy about these things. He usually hired cleaning help, but lately he’d been too busy and forgot. Unexpectedly, Hu San had come to clean up for him.

As they talked, Hu San’s eyes began to droop again. Zhou Miao gently carried her to the bedroom, kissed her forehead, and left quietly, closing the door.

He went to his study to consider the song for next week’s competition.

If it was just about dissing, there were plenty of suitable songs. But if he wanted the audience to feel that his diss was justified, choosing the right song became much harder.

Songs like “Ugly Monster,” though catchy, would make listeners feel he was roasting for the sake of roasting. After all, no matter what, Lin Zekai wasn’t ugly—he was one of the current top idols. How could he possibly be ugly?