Chapter 40: Stop Eating, Stop Eating!

After the full broadcast of “Sing My Heart Tonight’s” third public performance, the popularity of “A Woman’s Heart” skyrocketed.

Whether a stage exploded or not often followed a predictable pattern.

Early on, there was always a seemingly great start.

For instance, “A Woman’s Heart” had been a KTV mainstay for 30 years, demonstrating its vast reach and wide appeal. Launching a universally loved, classic song at the Spirit Confluence Hall was already half the battle. But correspondingly, the more deeply ingrained the original was, the harder it was to make an adaptation shine.

In the middle stage, necessary twists had to be created to highlight the difficulty.

Like when Mengmeng and First Sister were already nitpicking every single word and detail with the harmony section, the production team got word:

Top leadership was coming to inspect, and by lottery order, the inspection would coincide exactly with the “A Woman’s Heart” performance. To avoid unnecessary misunderstandings and reduce awkwardness, the production team advised First Sister and Mengmeng to reconsider carefully (heavy emphasis)…

When clips of this were frantically shared by marketing accounts, the audience tensed up too!

Anyone who’s ever been a corporate drone—whether in Big Tech, small companies, government agencies, or public institutions—knows: this kind of last-minute scramble for an inspection lands on whoever’s unlucky.

Changing the key was minor; the real fear was the original plan being altered beyond recognition.

Fortunately, the subsequent work of changing the key and lyrics for “A Woman’s Heart” went smoothly, and everything seemed to be back on track.

At that point, shouldn’t a great victory have emerged from the darkness?

No, no, no. That day, in front of nearly ten thousand people gathered at the Spirit Confluence Hall, the performance that first captured G City’s image of soaring, transformation, passion, warmth, and inclusiveness was actually Zhao Chenmin’s “Summer of Treading Waves.”

And Zhao Chenmin, by making that strong first impression, took second place in this round.

The effect of watching fansite photos online versus the official cam on the broadcast was completely different.

The live audience didn’t care about the supposed disadvantage of judging early; they were almost all swept up in the atmosphere. Whichever group’s performance they liked, they unhesitatingly pressed YES on their wristband.

It didn’t matter if they usually listened to that person’s music—they were performing well right now.

After a couple of cycles of “this group sang so well” and “that group also sang great,” the newly adapted “A Woman’s Heart,” gradually polished during the adaptation, practice, and rehearsal process, finally arrived belatedly on stage. By then, the sun hadn’t even set; the Spirit Confluence Hall was still bathed in natural light.

Anyone who’s lived in G City knows: that’s when it actually feels the hottest.

Not just hot, but oppressively humid.

Before the “A Woman’s Heart” group took the stage, the camera cut to backstage for a little over half a minute.

First Sister and Mengmeng, already in full makeup, were waiting. First Sister was murmuring to herself, occasionally pouting her lips so the makeup artist could touch up her lip color. As for Mengmeng, a makeup artist was pressing a small powder puff, about two fingers wide, dabbing his face—seemingly without much force, and indeed, without much.

Most viewers couldn’t even tell the difference in Mengmeng’s face before and after, including Eldan.

“Isn’t this fine?”

Mao Maoyu, with stage experience, hesitated before speaking. “A little pressing is better than none.”

Zhong Peiyao hit the nail on the head. “If the makeup isn’t set properly, my senior brother will melt from the heat the moment he gets on stage.”

Li Tingzhou couldn’t quite remember what the makeup artist had been fussing about then.

He only recalled initially blinking a lot from the facial work, but later getting so used to it he didn’t even bother blinking, knowing a professional makeup artist would never get anything in his eyes…

But unbeknownst to him, this very GIF of calm, collected Mengmeng getting his makeup touched up had been wildly cherished by fans yet again!

@Sis Has Some Money Bot:

[Series of Things I’d Forgive No Matter How Many Relationships They’d Had – 89]

[GIF of Mengmeng coldly getting makeup touched up]

[GIF of sunlight falling on Mengmeng’s face]

We were clearly here first, weren’t we? (crying emoji)

-Most Mengmeng fans simply don’t analyze or value this aspect.

-Can I say it? Some Mengmeng fans are really pretentious, especially a certain admin on the When to Criminalize Lip-Syncing Bot.

-The Fake Fake Group Bot is jealous of your traffic flow, main poster.

-Anyway, the atmosphere right now is great, Zheng Bing and Junko are also getting some traction.

-Dedicated to promoting the few good-looking people in Music Village (sweat emoji)

-Mengmeng alone is worth ten.

-I looked around, and only the main poster edited out Mengmeng’s mole under his eye.

-Isn’t that good? It’s really close to how he looks offline.

-If I could just see Mengmeng offline once, I’d happily eat delicacies and drink fine wine for the privilege.

Qu Yanni was constantly monitoring public opinion regarding Heartbreak and Mengmeng’s fan community. Controversies like this were mere child’s play, only reflecting clashes between different audience factions, incapable of causing real waves.

This was entirely normal fan circle ecology.

When talent and looks were evenly matched, there would always be diverse fans. Though their focus might differ, thankfully, their expectations aligned: they all wanted Li Tingzhou to become a little more popular, and a little more!

~

“A Woman’s Heart,” with even its framework drastically altered, became the second wildly popular stage for First Sister and Mengmeng’s group after their premiere with “Telepathy.”

As was practice, stage audio sources were released together on Monday.

So until then, viewers and fans could only loop the live version repeatedly.

Beyond that, they re-watched show clips on Tidal Net, discovering highlights they’d missed during the live TV broadcast.

Admittedly, the production team had many tricks.

Whenever the rival show “All-Star Launch” planned a big move to dominate trending topics, “Sing My Heart Tonight” would match it with marketing of equal weight.

Tonight’s output was clearly “A Woman’s Heart.”

Because the song’s difficulty ceiling was locked, adaptation was limited. Then they were unluckily picked for inspection by the visiting officials, forcing an already-formed piece to be drastically reworked. On stage, it was the murky twilight hour, hot, stuffy, and stifling, with stage lighting effects near zero. Midway, there was even a minor stage accident.

Zheng Bing and Junko’s in-ear monitors shorted out; they couldn’t hear the front-of-house sound.

Because the audience’s cheers were too loud, the reaction too fervent.

These two support performers relied purely on muscle memory and familiarity to complete an operation akin to “playing blind.” Backstage after the performance, both broke out in cold sweat. “God, that instant the screaming flooded my ears like a tidal wave, I could barely hear what Mengmeng and Sister Shiyu were singing.”

Junko was still shaking. “My voice didn’t tremble, did it?”

Rotating vocals itself severely tests a singer’s focus.

One moment of distraction, and both pitch and rhythm can fly off completely.

A venue with ten thousand people, and the crucial in-ear monitors fail—yet Junko still delivered his half of the song steadily. He deservedly caught that wave of heat with his own skill!

Dai Jier recalled, “Later, during the late-night meal, Junko was still full of residual fear.”

Eldan pondered. “He likes Li Tingzhou very much. You can tell, every time he spoke, he looked to Li Tingzhou for a confirming glance before continuing.”

Li Tingzhou only cared about one thing. “Do you have to call me by my full name all the time?”

Eldan frowned. “I am establishing prestige for you.”

Everyone calls you Mengmeng; only I call you Li Tingzhou, constantly reminding them that Li Tingzhou is Heartbreak’s producer. When necessary, everyone can joke around, but more often, there needs to be proper authority.

Mao Maoyu nudged Dai Jier’s arm. “Russians are naturally good at power plays, huh.”

After the TV broadcast, no one bothered checking if the online broadcast added extra scenes, like confessionals, because tomorrow was the fourth public performance. Everyone felt varying degrees of nervousness and just wanted a quick shower and sleep to recharge.

Except Eldan, who had just submitted his name for clearance.

After helping tidy up, he stayed directly in Li Tingzhou’s room.

After washing up, they sat on the bed, the computer screen showing the breakdown of “A Courtyard of Fragrance.”

“The violin was recorded live?”

“Otherwise, did you think my junior sister came to G City just to eat raw marinated seafood?”

“Oh, is raw marinated seafood good? Similar to our smoked fish?”

“No, completely different!”

Thanks to Eldan, Li Tingzhou had once tried authentic Russian-style smoked fish. Unfortunately, the moment the oily wrapper was opened, he firmly decided to reject that still-very-raw-looking fish, even though Eldan repeatedly insisted that original smoked fish was delicious with drinks and a little pickle…

After briefly diverging, they tacitly returned to the main topic.

Eldan pointed out another audio track. “You’ve never used this kind of voice to sing before. I noticed that the new added verse in ‘A Woman’s Heart’ uses exactly this vocal style. Why?”

Li Tingzhou was pondering how to explain the word “kink.”

“Let’s just say, fans like it.”

Liked it so much that even after submitting the draft, the Client wanted a last-minute change, specifically requesting the same timbre from 2:18 to 2:42 of “A Woman’s Heart” from the third public performance of “Sing My Heart Tonight” Season 7…

Eldan slowly nodded. “Alright, you always have your reasons. And your reasons are usually correct.”

~

The next day, Saturday, no one seemed to have slept well.

Eldan, due to jet lag, hadn’t slept at all through the night.

But he looked energetic and radiant as ever!

Mao Maoyu whispered to Dai Jier. “Slavic men just trade the beauty of their latter years to maintain that glow in their first half. I searched online yesterday, after marriage they usually get plump…”

Dai Jier, uncharacteristically, didn’t console him. “At least he’ll be handsome for half his life.”

The group rushed to Wave Tower for a meeting, then made final preparations. Makeup took the longest; the final rehearsal came next. For lunch, everyone ate just a little to fill their stomachs. Except Comrade Li Fushun; under Li Tingzhou’s guidance, he’d mastered ordering delivery and single-handedly consumed three portions.

First Sister was first stunned by his looks, then by his appetite.

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

Eldan processed this for two seconds and nodded to First Sister. “Thank you for your compliment, ma’am. In the future, there will be even more deceptive times.”

Ren Shiyu inhaled deeply. “Let’s hope he truly understood me.”

Li Tingzhou was currently with Zhong Peiyao. Indoors, two cameras on three mounts practically stuck to this young, attractive pair. Zhong Peiyao carried a box, neither too big nor too small, containing a used piece of rosin. An old brand, but excellent quality; preserved well, it hadn’t degraded at all.

“You have hardly any rosin left from what you left me before.”

Zhong Peiyao only used it for big occasions, major assessments.

“How long has it been since you played violin?”

Li Tingzhou thought earnestly. “Since I started using software, I’ve gotten lazy. I only play when the mood strikes. For work, I use the guitar more.” He took the violin from Zhong Peiyao, and under her expectant gaze, gave it a test. Silky smooth, he launched into an interlude from “A Courtyard of Fragrance.”

“Not as melodious and lingering as you.”

Zhong Peiyao laughed. “Well, I make my living with this!”

At 3 PM, the countdown to the performance officially began.

Even if other groups treated everyone to afternoon tea, no one dared eat or drink too much. At times like this, Mao Maoyu would console himself by thinking, “For tonight’s supper, I’m going to eat XXXXXXXX,” telling himself, it’s okay to be a little hungry, it’s okay…

And then, Eldan ate voraciously again, chugging two cups of milk tea by himself.

Li Tingzhou was genuinely worried now. “Stop eating, stop eating!”

“Rest assured, I will go exercise to burn it off.”

Mao Maoyu suddenly felt offended.

Since Night Heart Seven started filming, he’d been fed by various afternoon teas and late-night snacks, gaining no less than 15 jin. Though he still looked thin, only he knew how heavy that extra weight felt on his body.

He wanted to lose weight but lacked motivation; wanted to exercise but lacked stamina.

But now, it was different. He realized this Li Fushun guy brought a strong sense of crisis. This mixed-race Russian, with his platinum-blonde highlights, was always subtly showing off his uniqueness!

At 4:30 PM, the audience began entering.

At 5 PM sharp, the fourth public performance officially started recording—

The familiar, unlucky host recited 5 minutes of advertisements before announcing the rules for advancement and elimination for this round. Summing it all up: five Premier Singer groups would advance; the two with the lowest total scores would be eliminated.

Meaning, from the next public performance onwards, only five groups would remain on stage.

In the backstage waiting room, expressions varied among the guests from different groups. Although First Sister was supremely confident of reaching the finale night, she still reflexively felt anxious. If the “designated winner” felt this way, what about the groups with uncertain fates?

According to the lottery order, the first to perform was Zhuang Yifan’s group.

Li Tingzhou silently offered a quick prayer for Ancient Style King: hoping he could perform successfully and finish what he started.

“The Verdict” was a song heavily reliant on atmosphere. Yet, Zhuang Yifan’s stubbornness remained as incomprehensibly consistent as it had been for twenty years. No matter the song, he’d ultimately make it sound “Zhuang Yifan-flavored.”

Wang Chao did want to deliver a flavor matching the theme.

But his vocal pressure was simply too limited, his tone too soft. Limited by his Guest Singer share, he was like one or two drops of chili oil in a huge pot of food—barely detectable…

In the end, the live audience applauded to send off his journey on “Sing My Heart Tonight.”

Backstage, Wang Chao, for the first time on camera, openly gave Zhuang Yifan the cold shoulder. The farce was finally over; he didn’t even want to shake hands with his partner to conclude this unforgettable work experience but instead headed straight for Heartbreak’s waiting room.

“Brothers, I’m complete!”

Dai Jier and Mao Maoyu were the first to rush up and embrace him.

“Congratulations, Brother Chao! May your solo concerts be red-hot and completely sold out!”

“No more words, just waiting for all of us to go support you.”

Li Tingzhou also opened his arms to him, but Wang Chao carefully stopped a step away, giving a light embrace, afraid of wrinkling Mengmeng’s performance outfit. “Supper’s on me tonight, don’t refuse. You all know how long I’ve waited for this day.”

Hearing this, Eldan was delighted. “Congratulations to you!”

Ancient Style King also stepped forward to hug Li Fushun. “Thanks—”

And then, he simply didn’t leave. He stayed in Heartbreak’s waiting room, watching the other groups perform with them, discussing details, giving reactions in the live thread. Even for the confessional interview, the cameraman came to the Heartbreak room to film him. He’d endured four whole rounds of public performance; what harm was indulging him a little before he left?

By the time First Sister and Mengmeng were on standby, everyone inhaled deeply, steadying their breath.

Li Tingzhou reached out and gently pressed Zhong Peiyao’s shoulder. “Don’t be nervous.”

She nodded, not even daring to twist her neck, afraid of messing up her hair before going on stage. “Not nervous, just like rehearsal. Everything will go smoothly.”

5 minutes later, the associate director gave the final reminder. “10 seconds, 9 seconds…”

Wang Chao remained in the waiting room, beside him Comrade Li Fushun, wearing a hat that concealed absolutely none of his handsomeness. “On camera and in person really are different, aren’t they?”

Li Fushun stated directly, “How are they different? Both are very handsome.”

The introduction to “A Courtyard of Fragrance” began with a solo violin.

The camera focused on Zhong Peiyao under soft light. She wore a particularly exquisitely cut white dress, her long hair pinned at the back. The movements of her neck, shoulders, and arms as she drew the bow were elegantly understated to the extreme, yet not at all diminishing the violin’s plaintive melancholy…

Mengmeng’s voice was the first to enter.

It was that expensive, cold timbre from the new verse in “A Woman’s Heart.”

In this adaption, the male vocal tone was noticeably higher than the female’s, which happened to perfectly match Mengmeng and First Sister’s vocal comfort zones. As two follow spots merged into one, white petals descended from above.

“Are those real flowers?” Eldan asked.

Wang Chao considered. “Knowing the production team’s habits, if they’re real, they had to be air-lifted; if they’re fake, to achieve such a lifelike atmospheric effect, they might cost even more than real air-lifted flowers.”

“Then later, I must tell Mengmeng to gather some as souvenirs.”

Wang Chao: …

Man seriously, just when I think you’re speaking so clearly and professionally it gives me chills, you suddenly bring up a completely random topic, like it’s all a game!

Sure enough, Eldan steered the topic back. “This is the most technically demanding song they’ve performed so far.”

Ancient Style King choked again. “You’re one of us; how can you say it like that?”

“Both of them had to sing very cleanly, very sharply.”

Wang Chao understood his meaning. “I get it, very crisp enunciation.”

Without realizing it, the song was halfway through. The interlude’s solo violin had been pitch-bent by Mengmeng. At that moment, Mao Maoyu’s keyboard joined in, adding bass to drive the rhythm. That sense of plaintive, tragic grandeur instantly maxed out, and the atmosphere exploded all at once!

Backstage, Wang Chao felt goosebumps on both arms; the live audience could only be enjoying it more…

Eldan seemed completely entranced as he listened.

Wang Chao called him twice but got no answer.

It was only when Mengmeng returned backstage with a handful of impossibly realistic pure white petals—“Tada~!”—and scattered them all over Eldan’s head and face that he smiled again.

Mao Maoyu’s lips puckered way out. “I thought he was suddenly going to turn around and tease me.”