Chapter 69: Speak Not

As soon as the results were announced, a wave of astonishment swept through the audience. Dong Kai, Qin Xiyao, Fang Hao, and the others all turned their heads toward the host, as if they had seen a ghost, their faces full of disbelief.

Just moments ago, everyone had clearly seen that Lin Chuan was trailing Huang Quan by more than two hundred thousand votes. How could he suddenly have overtaken him in the blink of an eye?

“Lin Chuan? Lin Chuan is the champion?”

At that moment, everyone voiced the same incredulous question.

The host scrutinized the envelope again and again, and indeed, Lin Chuan’s name was written there. It wasn’t a mistake.

The crowd erupted. More than half of the people stood up from their seats, waving glow sticks and shouting Lin Chuan’s name at the top of their lungs. Some girls were so overwhelmed with joy that they screamed and cried.

The rest of the audience, however, questioned the outcome. Especially Huang Quan’s fans, who stirred up a commotion, demanding an explanation from the show’s producers.

With a gap of over two hundred thousand votes, how could such a reversal have happened? It was simply impossible to believe.

Security guards maintaining order became tense, quickly sealing off the perimeter of the stadium, fearing the fans might do something drastic.

“There’s something fishy going on here. The producers owe us an explanation!”

“How could Lin Chuan possibly be the champion? We don’t believe it!”

Voices of protest echoed from the stands. Some agitated fans even hurled drink bottles, garbage bags, and all sorts of random objects onto the field.

The situation began to spiral out of control.

Backstage, Han Xiao stood before the monitors, solemnly watching the chaotic scene unfold on screen.

Suddenly, hurried footsteps approached, and a man with a grim expression strode up, pointing at Han Xiao and shouting, “What’s going on? Why is Lin Chuan the champion?”

Han Xiao ignored the man’s question and calmly instructed the staff, “Let them see for themselves.”

The staff nodded and tapped Enter.

Immediately, the stage screen displayed a slightly blurry video, yet its contents were clear.

It was a school, bustling with foreigners and many Asian faces, all busy on the playground.

The scene shifted, and the playground was filled with people. Some held guitars, standing at the center and playing familiar melodies.

They were performing a song Lin Chuan had sung in a previous competition, titled “Old Boys.”

Among the singers were both Chinese and foreigners, all unfamiliar faces, smiling gently. The foreigners’ pronunciation was unclear, but they did their best to sing along with the others.

Gradually, the rest of the playground was infected by the music, and unknowingly joined in singing.

“Youth is like a rushing river, gone without a chance for goodbye, leaving only numbness where once there was passion… Look at the blossoms drifting across the sky, fading at their most beautiful moment—who will remember she ever visited this world…”

When the song ended, a young Chinese boy stepped out from the crowd, clutching his guitar, and shouted to the camera, “Brother Chuan, we support you!”

The video flickered, revealing a row of European-style buildings. On the street, hundreds of Chinese faces, men and women of all ages, stood together, shouting, “Lin Chuan, we’re voting for you!”

One video after another played, showing fans from around the world filming messages to support and vote for Lin Chuan.

Finally, when everyone thought it was over, a little boy appeared on screen.

He looked five or six years old, delicate and handsome, with a small backpack. Whenever he smiled, he revealed a row of missing teeth.

There was no music, no lighting. The boy earnestly sang into the camera.

“I always asked things from you, never saying thank you, until I grew up and realized how hard it was for you. Every time I left, I pretended to be relaxed, smiled and said, ‘Go home,’ but turned away with tears in my eyes…”

As his immature voice sang, the screen showed scenes of him playing with friends at kindergarten, and Lin Chuan sending him off, standing at the gate as the teachers led him in.

At the end, the boy grinned at the camera, showing his innocent smile and shouted, “Daddy, keep going! You’re always the best! I’m proud of you!”

As soon as he finished, a group of children his age crowded into the shot, all shouting together, “Uncle Lin Chuan, we love your singing, we support you!”

The children, like a band of innocent sprites, played and laughed, rekindling hope in everyone’s hearts.

When the videos finished, many in the audience were sobbing uncontrollably. Especially Lin Chuan, standing center stage, watching the adorable boy on screen, his cheeks already drenched in tears.

Yes, that little boy was Lin Yiyang, the sunny and energetic young lad.

By then, all the earlier protests and doubts vanished as if they had never existed.

The next second, two rows of numbers appeared on the big screen, representing Huang Quan and Lin Chuan’s vote counts.

Huang Quan: 4,556,184

Lin Chuan: 5,019,253

A difference of over four hundred thousand votes. Lin Chuan was the undisputed champion of the night.

The stadium erupted in thunderous cheers. Teacher Chen Dong was the first to react, hugging Lin Chuan with joy, “We won! We won!”

Fang Hao, though indifferent to the title, was moved by the videos, and a rare smile of delight appeared on his once-cold face.

As the new queen of the music scene, Qin Xiyao had witnessed countless moments like this, yet she was brought to tears by the final video, standing aside with her face streaked in tears.

Huang Quan emerged from the celebrating crowd, approached Lin Chuan, and smiled, “Congratulations, you deserve this championship.”

His voice wasn’t loud, soon drowned out by the cheers, but Lin Chuan heard it clearly. Facing his former partner, Lin Chuan felt an indescribable emotion.

He opened his mouth, but said nothing, simply smiling and nodding.

Just then, a series of loud booms echoed from the sky, drawing everyone’s attention upward.

Colorful fireworks exploded across the starry night, adding vibrant hues to the exhilarating evening.

Wang Shuang sat before the television, stunned after watching the videos. He only snapped back to reality when the camera turned skyward and the fireworks burst.

He jumped up from the sofa, dashed toward the bedroom, shouting, “Honey, come out quick! Lin Chuan won the championship! Come out!”

He knocked on the door for several minutes before footsteps sounded inside.

When the bedroom door opened, his wife appeared, sleepy and annoyed, “What are you doing, making noise in the middle of the night? Are you a ghost?”

“Honey, Brother Chuan won! He did it!” Wang Shuang said excitedly, ignoring her anger.

“What? Are you serious?”

“It’s true! They’re still celebrating on TV. Come and see!”

The two rushed to the living room. Seeing the fireworks and the celebration, his wife began to cry.

Wang Shuang awkwardly handed her tissues and quietly asked, “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep on the sofa tonight?”

Scenes like this played out across the country, though not as exaggerated, nor was anyone as distressed as Wang Shuang.

Especially in the Red Tide forum, thousands of Lin Chuan’s fans emerged, posting thread after thread about his victory.

Major media outlets reported that Lin Chuan, in the last five minutes, overtook Huang Quan by nearly a million votes to win the third annual “A Song to Fame” competition.

Some outlets expressed regret for Huang Quan, whose championship slipped away before his eyes. Many realized that, whatever you do, it’s crucial to sow seeds widely and plan for the long term.

…

Ding Min sat at her computer, nearly leaping from her chair as she watched the live results.

Suddenly, a message popped up from a user named “Silent Words.”

“How did it go? Did Lin Chuan win the championship?”

“Yes, he did! Didn’t you watch TV?” Ding Min replied, suppressing her excitement.

“Haha, you forgot—I’m not in the country…”

“Oh, I forgot… But it was so close, he almost lost. Luckily those videos filmed abroad appeared at the end and pulled in a lot of votes, otherwise… Hey! Were those videos made by you?”

“Me? You overestimate me. Well, now that Lin Chuan won, I can rest easy. Bye, talk next time.”

The other user’s icon dimmed—they had logged off.

Looking at the mysterious “Silent Words,” Ding Min’s brows furrowed. She felt those videos might be this person’s handiwork.

Suddenly, as she considered the username, a realization dawned upon her.