Chapter 1: A No-Show

April. A sudden rain drenched the tourists gathering for the Z City Music Festival.

Fortunately, it was just a brief shower and didn’t dampen the mood too much.

As the event ended and the crowd gradually dispersed, a damp atmosphere spread throughout the entire city.

After getting off the high-speed train, Li Tingzhou headed straight for the hospital. Through the observation window, he saw Jiang Hu, who had withdrawn from the event at the last minute. In just a few days apart, the originally tall and sturdy man was visibly haggard, with dark circles under his eyes and two deep, short vertical lines between his brows.

Pressing a hand over his anxious heart, Li Tingzhou pushed the door open.

“What did the doctor say?”

Jiang Hu habitually smiled at him, though the smile was a bit strained. He gestured for Li Tingzhou to sit on the edge of his bed. After sitting down, Li Tingzhou got an even closer look at his complexion.

“Not very optimistic. As soon as my mom arrives, I’ll transfer to a hospital in B City right away.”

A very small probability of the disease occurring, and unfortunately, Jiang Hu drew the short straw.

Li Tingzhou couldn’t quite grasp the medical jargon; he only understood that the other man’s condition was likely quite troublesome. He silently calculated the cash he could access, and after doing the math, immediately regretted the commissioned song orders he had previously turned down.

“Can they operate?”

Based on his shallow understanding of this area, Li Tingzhou naturally assumed that as long as surgery was an option, it meant the chances of a cure were high.

Jiang Hu held his slightly cold hand in return. “We’ll have to see how the follow-up treatment goes.”

Hearing about it on the phone was one thing; seeing it with his own eyes was a different kind of blow.

Smelling the disinfectant in the hospital room, Li Tingzhou’s mind was a tangled mess, filled with both anxiety and worry over Jiang Hu’s condition and confusion and helplessness about the band’s future. Very inappropriately, he recalled the night of the post-New-Year kickoff dinner, when everyone raised their glasses, faces red, voices loud, making ambitious vows of explosive fame and wealth.

How long had it been since then…

Young people can’t hide their emotions; their worries are completely visible.

Jiang Hu wanted to say something to comfort him in return, but his throat inexplicably tightened.

“I’ll cooperate with whatever the doctor says. No rushing it. Just have to leave it to fate!”

His attempt to change the subject was a little clumsy. “But you, you need to steady the others. This last-minute withdrawal is a breach of contract, but it was sudden and the situation is special. There’s always room for negotiation. Sister Lusi is already communicating with the organizers. If we really have to pay, we’ll just pay it outright. One no-show isn’t enough to ruin our reputation…”

The music festival matter was temporarily set aside as they got to the main point.

Jiang Hu wasn’t Heartbreak’s first lead singer; there was one before him, the band’s founder. By the time he arrived, Heartbreak, active for six years, had already made a bit of a name for itself. Jiang Hu himself had competed for his position, so even if it weren’t for illness, he was quite accepting of turnover.

If he didn’t sing lead, he could still transition to behind-the-scenes production.

No one stays young forever. There are plenty of singers who ruin their voices from overwork in their prime.

From the emergency hospital visit to the initial diagnosis, the situation had turned upside down. On the night he was advised to transfer hospitals, Jiang Hu’s mood was one of utter despair. Though he resented the unfairness of fate, for that one second, he was grateful he couldn’t sing because of illness, not because his voice had failed him.

The worst outcome was leaving when the fans’ perception of him was at its best.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to groom a backup lead singer for the band…

With Jiang Hu stepping down, all the pressure fell onto Li Tingzhou. The band had no nominal captain; whoever managed the concept creation made the decisions. Now that the 32-year-old second-generation lead singer could no longer sing, the 25-year-old producer who’d only been in the band for two years naturally had to shoulder both the internal and external burdens.

Li Tingzhou could sing, but he wasn’t the only option.

He asked for an opinion. “How about temporarily promoting Mao Maoyu?”

Jiang Hu asked, “What about you? No plans yourself?”

“Not letting him try?”

Li Tingzhou avoided talking about himself.

“Mao Maoyu’s tiny little voice–“

Perhaps his mindset had abruptly changed after falling ill, but Jiang Hu was now overly anxious. Knowing that Li Tingzhou had dropped work to visit him, certain words had been churning in his gut, and they came out sounding almost harsh. “Honestly, his timbre is too thin, his vocal pressure isn’t strong enough, he can’t command the stage. As a backing vocal, enriching the sound layers, he’s fine, occasionally giving a bright, refreshing feel. In those pop boy bands, he could qualify as a lead singer, but he still lacks texture.”

Texture, that concept, was too subjective.

Silk texture is texture, metallic texture is texture. Or rather, you could say the feeling that perfectly matches Heartbreak is the specific texture that’s needed.

Li Tingzhou stiffened for two seconds. “…He’s not that bad.”

“If he could do it, I’d have trained him up long ago.”

Heartbreak’s extremely streamlined lineup meant there wasn’t much internal competition. Everyone specialized in their own area, harmoniously doing what they were good at.

If Mao Maoyu showed any talent, the first reaction would have been to get him to share more of the workload, not to deliberately suppress him to secure one’s own position.

Having reached this point, Jiang Hu stopped beating around the bush. “Mao Maoyu’s inherent hardware is what it is, and his personality is too meek. He was given chances before and didn’t deliver. Better let him stick to what he’s better at, what he enjoys more.” Hearing Li Tingzhou’s defense of Mao Maoyu, he decided not to keep harping on it.

“Actually, your look is very suited for the front stage.”

“There’s a hierarchy of disdain in this circle now. Someone who can both sing and compose is better than a pure singer. Our band is self-sufficient, but if we could add another selling point, why not do it?”

Li Tingzhou lowered his eyes, not meeting Jiang Hu’s hopeful gaze. He had deep reservations about being on camera.

In the end, Heartbreak wasn’t without other options right now. If all else failed, calling back the old lead singer to save the day was a foolproof path, maybe even a chance to cash in on a bit of nostalgia.

Therefore, faced with Jiang Hu’s insistent urging, Li Tingzhou still had an excuse to resist. “I’m not really suited. I can stay in the studio and work like eight people rolled into one, no problem. But if I go to the front stage, my future romantic experiences alone… will scare off what few fans we have.”

This was a price the band scene had to pay to ride the wave of the fan economy’s resurgence. Jiang Hu, a celibate by choice, was an exception among exceptions. His love life was completely uneventful and offered nothing to exploit. Consequently, the band’s promotion inevitably lacked some entertainment value and had more of a sense of distance.

He himself didn’t date, but he wasn’t incapable of understanding other people’s emotional needs. “What’s wrong with dating? Dating isn’t illegal.”

An anxious Jiang Hu couldn’t bother with the emotional appeal anymore. If one route was blocked, he’d try another.

“There are still the music festivals in T City and Y City coming up. Those are bigger venues, both two-day consecutive performances. Heartbreak gets about six minutes per show. Where are we going to find a new lead singer now? Another contract breach, and I fear our credit will be maxed out. I’m not trying to force you, but besides you, there’s no one else who can step up.”

The old lead singer wasn’t even on Jiang Hu’s list of choices. In this situation, he was only counting on Li Tingzhou to hold firm.

Heartbreak wasn’t in the top tier of the band scene. They’d missed the marketing wave of band-related variety shows two years prior, so they were slow at every step, left behind the tide. Unless a rival had a sudden scandal, Heartbreak couldn’t land a decent commercial partnership from the start of the year to its end. To keep things running, everyone had to travel far and wide constantly.

But they had carefully cultivated it for so many years and polished two or three hit songs. After Li Tingzhou joined, Heartbreak finally entered an active period of releasing songs. Fans cried out it was like sweet rain after a long drought. Reputation and popularity were steadily rising. By Inner Entertainment’s metrics, they barely scraped the edge of being a B-list act.

Building a brand was very hard, destroying it was easy. The no-show at the Z City Music Festival was an unprecedented sudden accident. Fortunately, the organizers and Heartbreak’s official Weibo quickly put out a joint statement. Trust built over the years meant fans’ discussions were mostly filled with fear and worry…

Just as Jiang Hu said, the band couldn’t afford another incident like this.

“Think about it carefully. I only trust you.”

Jiang Hu’s energy was limited. After talking with Li Tingzhou for nearly an hour, he had to lie down and rest. Before Li Tingzhou left, he instructed him to continue following up on the copyright transfer matters, telling him not to slack on its progress under any circumstances.

He’d arrived in Z City at noon, hadn’t even had a chance to eat a meal. Li Tingzhou was so hungry he’d gone numb. He bought a ticket for the fastest train that afternoon back to their home base, J City.

In the basement level of the studio, Mao Maoyu, who had returned two days early, already knew the situation from the agent, Liu Lusi.

“Brother Jiang… what did Brother Jiang say?”

“Not good. He’ll be transferred to B City for treatment later.”

There was no point in hiding this; everyone would find out sooner or later.

“Who’s taking care of him over there?” Mao Maoyu pressed.

“Brother Jiang contacted his mother. She’s probably landed by now too.”

Li Tingzhou took off his hat and used his fingers like a comb to casually rake through his messy short hair. He threw himself onto the sofa, pinched the bridge of his nose, felt something was off, then started massaging his temples. His temples were throbbing. He couldn’t pinpoint the soreness and swelling, just felt terrible.

“Brother Jier went out to buy food. Have you eaten?”

“No, I haven’t.”

Mao Maoyu scooted over. “I figured, so I had him get your share too.” After quietly observing Li Tingzhou’s expression and confirming his mood was okay, he asked softly, “So what do we do about the next two music festivals?”

Jiang Hu’s departure for treatment was a done deal. The remaining members still had to solve the problem. Mao Maoyu’s gaze was full of concern, hoping Li Tingzhou could make a decision quickly.

Setting aside the songwriting and producing side jobs—where payment was often in installments, final payments were endlessly delayed, and royalty disputes occasionally arose—the studio’s main revenue came from performance fees for music festivals and commercial shows. Large platform joint concerts were relatively hot, with clear pricing, and the money came in fast. Small amounts added up to large sums eventually.

Big star crews, with appearance fees easily in the millions and meal allowances starting in the six figures, naturally looked down on this kind of money. They utterly scorned low-level commercial gigs, afraid of lowering their own status.

But Li Tingzhou couldn’t refuse these kinds of invitations. He couldn’t afford a shred of pretentiousness. There wasn’t much room to be picky.

On one hand, everyone in the band needed to eat, needed to earn a living to support their families. On the other hand, the studio had only just painfully broken free from its blood-sucking old parent company a year ago. The notice on their official social media account stated “contract expired, amicable split,” but the reality? They’d still paid a buyout fee nearing eight figures, officially called a “trademark termination fee,” but effectively “Inner Entertainment protection money.”

Simultaneously, Heartbreak was in the middle of the massive project of transferring its copyrights. Every day they opened their eyes, money was being spent. Even doing nothing, money was being spent. The outflow was like a breached dam. Li Tingzhou had to budget meticulously.

Although he was the youngest in the studio, he was reliable and handled the production. He managed big and small matters calmly and without fuss. Everyone subconsciously shed their prejudices about age and seniority, following and cooperating with him on everything. Take Mao Maoyu, for instance, because they’d studied together, he unconsciously relied on Li Tingzhou even more.

“We can’t afford to miss the next two performances.”

Only big stars had the right to act like divas. Heartbreak couldn’t even adjust its setlist on a whim. Mao Maoyu’s tone held a cautious probe, but also a hint of veiled hope. “Why… why don’t you do it? When we were recording before, when I heard the demo, I felt the completion level was already very high. Besides, the music festival song selections are basically the popular new songs from the last two years. We’ve practiced them relatively more, we’re all more familiar with them…”

Li Tingzhou could hesitate and grapple with Jiang Hu in front of him, but facing others, he always instinctively shouldered the responsibility.

“Wait till Brother Jier gets back. I’ll call Sister Lusi. We’ll have a meeting.”

Speak of Jier, and Jier arrived. He held two bags of food in one hand, using his shoulder to push open the soundproof door into the basement.

“You’re back?”

Li Tingzhou took the food from him, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. “Thanks, bro.” He wasn’t a picky eater, normally eating whatever was available, but Dai Jier still remembered Li Tingzhou’s preferred tastes, trying his best to choose light, fresh, and savory dishes.

“I was just telling Mengmeng, maybe he should step up,” Mao Maoyu said while setting out the food, mentioning their discussion.

The nickname “Mengmeng” had its own evolution: Back when the label wasn’t independent yet, to make accounting and future splitting easier, the songs Li Tingzhou externally licensed from his music catalog weren’t credited under his real name. Instead, he casually used the alias “Misty M.” But music fans’ ears are, in some ways, invincible. As he took on more external work, some collaboration results became even more popular than Heartbreak’s own songs. Purely based on his composing style and the audio watermark in the demos, they identified quite a few tracks. They’d frequently run to the official Weibo asking, “You have such good songs, why don’t you keep them for yourselves?”

And so, “Misty M” gradually morphed into the affectionate nickname “Mengmeng.” Everyone in the studio, from the cleaning lady to Mao Maoyu, the closest in age, called Li Tingzhou this to show closeness.

Back to the topic, Dai Jier was also in favor of Li Tingzhou stepping up. “You wrote the songs yourself, you understand them best.”

Dai Jier was the drummer, and he also wrote and arranged music, though not much was included in Heartbreak’s official releases. If it were the first generation of Heartbreak, they might have played some unreleased songs in small venues. But now the band scene had been too thoroughly saturated. Anyone with some ambition had gone independent with their own label. Driven by various factors, Heartbreak’s creation also had to change. Things too niche would be mercilessly cast aside by the market. For stable survival, while preserving their core essence, the band inevitably had to sacrifice some uniqueness.

Precisely because Dai Jier was extremely clear on this point, he could coexist harmoniously with Li Tingzhou. They certainly had some creative differences, but their overarching creative concept remained consistent.

The three of them ate, originally planning a quick group voice call meeting for convenience. Unexpectedly, Liu Lusi had already rushed back through the night.

The superwoman had pushed her stamina to its absolute limit these past three days: First, right before the music festival performance, Jiang Hu suddenly fell ill. She hurriedly got him to the hospital, managed everything, and prevented any messy rumors from leaking out, while simultaneously communicating with the organizers to issue a joint statement to steady the fans. Once Jiang Hu’s transfer was confirmed, she rushed back to the hospital to meet with Jiang Hu’s mother, soothing her emotions. On her way back to J City, she even settled the breach of contract penalty with a mouthful of stress blisters…

For the first half of the meeting, Liu Lusi didn’t say a word. After resting enough, she finally spoke. “I agree with Jiang Hu’s opinion.”

In fact, even if Jiang Hu hadn’t said it, Liu Lusi would have eventually convinced Li Tingzhou to take over the lead singer position. In her view, Li Tingzhou’s past relationships were no big deal at all. Compared to scandal-risk material like prostitution, gambling, or drugs, a young person dating was far from that level of severity.

Sometimes, appropriate romantic experiences could even accentuate a scarce resource like talent. It made a person seem like a living, breathing human, infinitely closer to the audience and fans, giving them tangible, accessible fantasies. Instead of a beautiful commodity with a flawless public persona, perfectly flawless in every aspect.

The key was how to highlight the charm of his personality, not to emphasize the ambiguous color of male-female relationships. Such methods were impossible for Liu Lusi to apply to the celibate Jiang Hu. But if it was Li Tingzhou, then she could confidently and boldly put her plans into action.