Chapter 54: A Margin of One Vote

The voting period lasted only one minute, but that single minute felt interminable for everyone present. Whether they were in the audience, among the judges, or watching from home on television, all held their breath, eyes fixed on the rapidly changing numbers on the screen, not daring even to blink for fear of missing something.

In theory, the judges seated below should have been the least nervous. Ultimately, whoever won mattered little to them personally. They each had their preferences and favorites, of course, but that was as far as it went.

Yang Wei, however, was different. In the previous round, he had deliberately chosen a very challenging song, “Camellia,” for Lin Chuan, hoping to eliminate him. He had failed. This time, he had devised another careful plan, trying to unnerve Lin Chuan and cause a poor performance that would lead to his elimination. Yet again, he failed.

He couldn't tell if Lin Chuan was just extraordinarily lucky or if a benefactor was secretly helping him, but every time, Lin Chuan managed to escape unscathed.

By now, Yang Wei’s heart had sunk into despair, his only remaining hope resting on the final tally. If Lin Chuan’s votes fell short of Fang Hao’s, he would still be eliminated. Even if it wasn’t by Yang Wei’s own hand, it would be some consolation—a purpose fulfilled, at least.

As the seconds ticked by, the left side of the big screen suddenly froze, revealing Fang Hao’s vote count.

One hundred and forty-five votes—almost half of the three hundred possible. But this didn’t necessarily mean Lin Chuan would surpass that number. Out of three hundred musicians, there were always some who, unable to choose, would abstain from voting. The producers could do nothing about that.

Now, all eyes focused on the right side of the screen, where Lin Chuan’s vote count was still spinning rapidly.

Suddenly, the first digit appeared—a one. Although many knew Lin Chuan’s count wouldn’t be less than three digits, seeing that one still brought a collective sigh of relief. At least he was in contention with Fang Hao.

Whether or not the production crew was toying with everyone, Lin Chuan’s votes didn’t appear all at once, but popped up one by one.

After a few seconds, the second digit appeared—a four. Faces throughout the hall lit up with smiles of relief, though many grew even more anxious. With the first two digits being fourteen, the third had to be greater than five, or else Lin Chuan could still be eliminated.

The hall fell silent as everyone watched the spinning third digit, so quiet the sound of every breath was audible.

They waited, anticipation building, for the digit that would decide the fates of Lin Chuan and Fang Hao.

Far away, in another city, Ding Min, the head of the Lin Chuan fan club, sat in front of her computer watching the live broadcast. Like everyone else, she had her hands clasped tightly, eyes glued to the screen, not daring to blink.

Suddenly, a message popped up in the chat group. Already on edge, she jumped in fright.

“Is anyone here? Has the result come out? Did Brother Chuan win?” a fan shouted in the group.

No one replied—everyone was waiting for the voting result. Who had time to chat?

“President, are you here? Did Brother Chuan advance?” The fan, dissatisfied with the silence, asked again, tagging Ding Min.

Ding Min hadn’t wanted to speak; she was even more nervous than Lin Chuan must have been on stage. Still, as the club leader, she felt it impolite to remain silent. She forced herself to reply as quickly as possible.

“The results aren’t out yet. Aren’t you watching the live broadcast?”

“Not yet? I had something on tonight, drinking with friends…” the fan replied.

Ding Min glanced at the message and closed the chat. Yet before she could relax, the fan spoke up again.

“President, did Brother Chuan sing a new song tonight? Do you have a recording? Share it in the group so I can listen!”

Seeing this, Ding Min’s face turned livid with anger. Was he trying to provoke her? At such a critical moment, he just wouldn’t quit.

She began typing furiously, determined to scold him thoroughly, even if she quit as president afterward—he was just too oblivious.

But before she could send her message, someone else in the group jumped in.

“Dude, are you drunk out of your mind? Watch the replay yourself and stop bothering us…” This person’s avatar was a cartoon girl, but the tone was anything but gentle.

When Ding Min saw this, her anger melted into laughter. Satisfying—some people just needed to be told off.

She closed the group chat and returned to the live broadcast.

Suddenly, the studio erupted in cheers. Many stood up, excited beyond measure. On stage, Lin Chuan and Fang Hao embraced each other.

What happened? Had the result appeared?

Yes—just as she had been arguing with that fan, the final digit appeared—a bright, unmistakable six.

One hundred and forty-six votes—just one more than Fang Hao. The margin was razor-thin.

Nevertheless, Ding Min leapt from her seat, cheering wildly, just like the audience at the venue.

“Bang bang bang!”

At that moment, a knocking came from the door, followed by a woman’s voice: “Min Min, are you alright? Is something wrong?”

“Mom, I’m fine! Go to bed, it’s late!” Ding Min quickly covered her mouth, her excitement still plain on her face.

“Oh, this child… Well, don’t stay up too late—you have work tomorrow,” her mother said, shaking her head as she walked away.

Ding Min could barely contain her excitement. She wanted to share the good news with the fan group. When she returned to her computer, the group was already buzzing—everyone was discussing Lin Chuan’s advancement.

…

Meanwhile, on stage, Lin Chuan was quietly relieved at his narrow victory. Winning by a single vote meant little—it did not prove he was stronger than Fang Hao.

In fact, Fang Hao’s arrangement of the old song was outstanding, a feat even many established singers would struggle to match.

But his performance was like fast food—exciting and satisfying in the moment, but unlikely to leave a lasting impression.

In contrast, Lin Chuan’s “Old Boys” lacked explosive rhythms and passionate highs. It was like a fine tea, meant to be savored slowly, with the heart.

Because of this, he left a deeper impression on both the audience and the three hundred musicians—especially the older ones, whose life experiences made them more susceptible to the song’s nostalgic appeal.

“Congratulations on making it to the finals. I’ll be back that day,” Fang Hao said, smiling and extending his hand.

Lin Chuan smiled calmly and shook it. “I’d say this round was a draw. One vote’s difference doesn’t mean much.”

Fang Hao just chuckled and said no more.

With that, the two left the stage as the next round began. Huang Quan and the girl took turns performing. The girl sang a love song, full of suppressed emotion, moving many in the audience to tears.

As for Huang Quan, he had shown little promise from the auditions up to now. But tonight, he stunned everyone with a soaring high note, instantly captivating the audience.

Even Lin Chuan, watching from the studio, was amazed.

Was this really the Huang Quan he knew? That high note was extraordinary—even Lin Chuan wasn’t sure he could reach it without cracking.

Clearly, Huang Quan had hidden depths.

Soon, both finished their performances and the voting commenced. This time, there was little suspense—the girl received only one hundred thirty-six votes, while Huang Quan won with one hundred sixty-two, advancing to the final championship round.

By now, it was past nine in the evening. Lin Chuan chatted for a while with Li Rong, who had returned, and with the rocker, learning that the latter had just signed with a record company and might release his first album by year’s end.

As for Li Rong, she hadn’t signed with any company. She had only entered the competition for fun, with no intention of chasing fame.

Such is the privilege of the wealthy.

As Lin Chuan was about to leave, Yang Wei staggered over, grinning insincerely. “Congratulations, Lin Chuan, I never thought you’d make it to the finals.”

Lin Chuan turned, giving him a cold look but saying nothing.

Yang Wei drew closer, a sneer curling his lips. “I really hope you perform just as well in the next round…”

Before he could finish, Lin Chuan swung his fist without warning, landing a solid punch.

With a dull “thud,” Yang Wei let out a pig-like scream, stumbling back several steps before landing on the floor.

“I warn you—if you ever target my son again, don’t blame me for what happens next.”

With that, Lin Chuan turned and walked away.

Around them, many staff members and returning singers stood frozen in shock, while Yang Wei, clutching his face, stared after Lin Chuan in disbelief.