Chapter 18: Childhood and Memories

If those two words hadn’t trembled,
I wouldn’t have realized how much it hurt.
How can I say it?
In the end, it’s just a breakup.
If we had no expectations for tomorrow,
Holding hands would be like traveling,
Among thousands of doorways,
There is always one person who must leave first.
Since an embrace cannot linger,
Why not, at the moment of parting,
Savor the moment even as tears stream down...

The familiar melody echoed through the recording studio, and the fans in the audience raised their glow sticks, swaying them in rhythm with the music. At this moment, no one argued any longer about which song they wanted to hear; instead, they sat quietly, listening to this classic song, “Ten Years.”

Unconsciously, some people’s eyes began to grow moist, as the lyrics stirred memories of all they had experienced along the way. Just as the song said—ten years ago, we were strangers; ten years later, we know each other well. They didn’t have to be lovers, but this kind of connection truly existed.

When the first chorus of “Ten Years” ended, the music suddenly shifted, becoming lively and cheerful. At first, the audience was caught off guard, but when they recognized the familiar prelude to “Childhood,” screams of excitement and exhilaration erupted. Some even stood from their seats, shouting Lin Chuan’s name.

By the pond, the banyan tree buzzed with cicadas singing of summertime.
The swing beside the playground was now a perch for butterflies.
On the blackboard, the teacher’s chalk scrawled endlessly,
As we waited for class to end, for school to let out, for the games of childhood.
The corner store had everything, though our pockets were always empty.
Who would seize the magic sword—Zhuge Silang or the Devil’s Gang?
Why hadn’t the girl from the next class passed by my window yet?
Snacks in my mouth, comics in hand, first love in my heart—such was childhood...

The seamless transition from “Ten Years” to “Childhood” felt just right, as if they had left their present lives behind and, in a black-and-white flashback, returned to the innocence of youth.

As Lin Chuan sang on stage, his gaze swept across the audience, reading nostalgia, joy, innocence, and regret on their faces.

Without a doubt, as the lyrics of “Childhood” unfolded, everyone was transported back to the pure, simple era of their youth. Childhood then was nothing like now—no computers, no cell phones, not even fancy dolls or wildly animated cartoons.

Lin Chuan vividly remembered that as a boy, he could play on the slide for an entire afternoon. At night, he’d play hide-and-seek with friends, and when it was his turn to seek, he could never find a soul. At school, he’d tease the girls in his class; after school, he’d play soccer with the boys, always coming home to his mother’s scolding—yet he never wished to change.

Scenes from the past flashed before his eyes like a movie.

As “Childhood” drew to its close, Lin Chuan felt his own eyes moisten and his voice choke with emotion. When the last note faded in the studio, a hush fell over the room.

Lin Chuan stood alone on stage, his expression calm and composed. Even if he failed to make the top thirty today, it no longer mattered—he felt fulfilled.

No one knew how much time passed before a smattering of applause broke the silence, and then the entire audience rose to their feet, faces alight with emotion.

Thunderous applause shook everyone to the core. These two songs were no strangers to the crowd—they had all seen the leaked videos from the bar online. Yet videos were just that: poor sound, poor visuals, nothing like witnessing Lin Chuan’s live performance. Their excitement and newfound recognition of Lin Chuan surged together.

The three judges exchanged troubled glances. From their eyes, it was clear: if they didn’t let Lin Chuan advance today, the fans behind them might very well tear them apart.

At that moment, the host returned to the stage, beaming, signaling the audience to quiet down. Then he smiled and said, “Judges, I believe you already know in your hearts whether Lin Chuan should advance. Still, I’d like to remind you once more—please be extremely careful when scoring!”

Somehow, the host had completely taken Lin Chuan’s side, his tone growing firm as he addressed the judges.

Led by Yang Wei, all three judges glanced at each other again, then lowered their heads to write Lin Chuan’s scores.

Suddenly, the whole studio fell silent once more. All eyes, including Lin Chuan’s and the host’s, fixed on the three judges. The weight of their scrutiny thickened the tension in the air. Lin Chuan, though a little nervous, managed to remain composed, but the judges were another matter.

In particular, the middle-aged female judge, around forty, hesitated over each score—writing, pausing, erasing, and rewriting over and over, until at last she raised her scorecard.

Cheers erupted again, even louder than before.

Meanwhile, in the waiting room, Huang Quan and Li Rong looked bewildered and confused. Lin Chuan had been at the front for nearly half an hour now. From the awkward silence at first to the thunderous applause later, everyone felt uneasy.

Normally, each contestant’s performance and scoring took no more than ten minutes. Yet Lin Chuan had been gone for almost thirty. No one knew what had happened, but all of them were unconsciously worried for him.

“Why isn’t he back yet?” Huang Quan paced anxiously in front of the door.

“Huang Quan, will you stop pacing? I bet Lin Chuan will be back any minute,” Li Rong said impatiently from the couch, glancing at Lin Yi-yang, who was busy with a paper airplane.

“Can you blame me for being anxious? Of all of us, Lin Chuan is the most qualified to advance. If even he runs into trouble, what chance do the rest of us have?” Huang Quan replied grimly.

Li Rong frowned but said nothing; Huang Quan’s worries were justified. Aside from Lin Chuan, only the rocker in the corner had a real shot at advancing. If Lin Chuan failed, no one dared to hope they could win over the judges.

The room grew heavy with tension. Apart from the little boy, everyone was on edge, the sound of heavy breathing filling the silence.

Suddenly, the door swung open. Huang Quan and Li Rong jumped, turning to look.

Lin Chuan entered, his face stony and expressionless.

“Daddy!” Lin Yi-yang dropped his paper airplane and flew into his father’s arms.

“You’re finally back, Lin Chuan. What took you so long?” Huang Quan hurried over, concern etched on his face.

“Cut the chatter, Xiao Chuan. Just tell us—did you make it through?” Li Rong pushed Huang Quan aside, anxious for an answer.

Her heart was pounding. Even the rocker in the corner, fiddling with his electric guitar, looked up at Lin Chuan.

Last time Lin Chuan advanced, his face had been all smiles; it was obvious he’d succeeded. But this time, his somber expression gave quite the opposite impression...

“Sigh,” Lin Chuan hugged his son, frowning slightly with a soft sigh. “Sorry to disappoint you, but it looks like I’ll still be your competitor in the next round of the Top Thirty.”

“What?” Li Rong was momentarily stunned, not quite grasping his words.

But Huang Quan laughed, slapping his thigh. “Ha, now you’re learning to play coy, scaring us half to death! We thought you didn’t make it. Come on, tell us what took you so long?”

“Wait... hold on. Xiao Chuan, did you make it or not?” Li Rong grew even more confused, looking between the two.

Lin Chuan and Huang Quan could only shake their heads at Li Rong’s stubbornness. Usually so sharp and lively, why did her wits abandon her at a moment like this?

Lin Chuan offered no explanation, nor did Huang Quan, who instead teased Li Rong mercilessly.

Before long, Lin Chuan recounted everything that happened on stage in a few brief sentences. It wasn’t a secret, after all; even if he didn’t say so, they’d see it on TV in a few days.

“Who is Yang Wei? I’ve never heard of him,” Li Rong mused, frowning.

“I know him. Supposedly, he was a rich second-generation kid who used his family’s connections to get into showbiz. He had a few hits and was briefly popular, but scandals caught up with him and he faded away. Didn’t expect to see him as a judge here,” Huang Quan replied, stroking his chin.

“So that’s how it is. Xiao Chuan, did you offend him somehow?” Li Rong asked, thinking aloud.

“I don’t think so—I don’t even know the guy, how could I have offended him?” Lin Chuan replied, equally baffled.

“No need to guess. Yang Wei is Qi Kai’s cousin…” The rocker, usually silent, suddenly spoke up as the three puzzled over Yang Wei’s hostility.

“Qi Kai? Who’s that? Never heard of him,” Lin Chuan said, glancing at the rocker, his frown deepening.

“Who else? That ‘Young Master Qi’ you fought with at the bar a few days ago—his name’s Qi Kai.” The rocker sneered, tossed out the answer, and walked out the door.

At once, Lin Chuan, Huang Quan, and Li Rong exchanged stunned looks, reading the surprise in each other’s eyes.