Chapter 3: The Artillery Master Makes His Entrance

“Oh~~~ Ah~~~ Hey~~~ Ho~~~”
In the restroom, making the most of his last moments, Zhang Qiyang stretched his new body’s vocal cords, hastening to adapt.
His stomach was uncomfortable, with a faint sense of rebellion stirring, yet his vocal cords remained unaffected.
The original owner’s voice had been rasped from heavy drinking, but the talent was undeniable.
Even hoarse, the range was broad, the grain pronounced, saturated with a sense of age and depth—a voice magnetic and full of stories.
It was far superior to the thinner voice Zhang Qiyang had possessed in his previous life.
This was the voice of a born singer.
In his former life, Zhang Qiyang had never studied music systematically, but since junior high, he’d been passionate about the arts, often performing on stage, self-taught in composition and arrangement.
Now, gifted with such a treasure of a voice, it felt like he’d received the perfect tool for showing off!
“Ho~~~ Oh~~~ Ha~~~ Hong~~~”
The more Zhang Qiyang vocalized, the more exhilarated he became.
He sensed he would deliver a spectacular performance on the stage of “My Song” tonight.
Originally, the previous owner had rehearsed a dark gothic piece titled “Night Star,” which he wrote himself, centered on themes of death and transcendence—unconventional and unique.
With the merged memories, Zhang Qiyang had the melody of this song in his mind and could sing it.
But performing such a song on the stage of “My Song” was clearly inappropriate.
Moreover, the song itself wasn’t particularly outstanding, so Zhang Qiyang decided to change it at the last minute.
He would accompany himself and sing “The Brightest Star in the Night Sky,” that classic from another world, to declare his rebirth!
But with the performance imminent, communicating with the production team might be too late now.
He resolved to act first and explain later.
Once on stage, he would simply switch songs, and deal with any consequences afterward.
There were five minutes left before Zhang Qiyang was due to appear.
His plump assistant, Qin Xueyang, noticing he still hadn’t left the restroom, had no choice but to go and urge the troublesome young master herself.
At that moment, eerie howls echoed from within.
Startled, Qin Xueyang pushed open the restroom door without hesitation to investigate.
She found Zhang Qiyang in front of the sink, shouting at the mirror.
“What are you doing?”
Qin Xueyang asked in surprise, not caring if it was the men’s room, briskly approaching Zhang Qiyang.

Zhang Qiyang glanced at the plump girl with a black mask and said, “I’m warming up my voice.”
“In the restroom? Are you drinking again?”
Qin Xueyang, anxious, removed her mask, revealing a face both round and beautiful—radiating prosperity—moving closer to sniff him.
“Why are you sniffing me?”
Zhang Qiyang was helpless before her scrutiny.
With the merged memories, his manner toward those around him was now more influenced by the original owner, less polite.
“I’m checking if you’ve been drinking again! …Hmm, no alcohol smell. What’s gotten into you?”
Qin Xueyang, baffled by his odd behavior, grabbed his arm and urged, “Hurry out and get ready—you’re about to go on stage!”
“Alright, alright, got it. Don’t rush me.”
Zhang Qiyang was dragged from the restroom by Qin Xueyang’s insistent pull.
The staff quickly fetched his peachwood acoustic-electric guitar, helped him with performance gear, and sent him down the backstage channel with countless reminders.
Cameras were already trained on Zhang Qiyang.
He hadn’t faced a lens so closely in ages, and the filming made him a bit nervous.
Yet more than anything, he felt a fresh, exhilarating thrill—like a newborn breathing the air of a new world.
The female director reminded him repeatedly: “Just start singing when you’re on stage, no need for an introduction.”
“I know,” Zhang Qiyang replied firmly.
Still, the production staff remained uneasy.
Luo Tao, the chief director coordinating a dozen camera angles in the live broadcast room, felt as if he were facing a formidable enemy, repeatedly confirming contingency plans with everyone.
If Zhang Qiyang acted out on stage, they would immediately cut to commercial and pause the competition—there was no way they’d let “Cannon Master” ruin the show’s reputation.
Tonight’s final competitor, dubbed the “R&B Prince” Lin Haoran, had just heated up the atmosphere with a powerful song.
After Lin Haoran’s performance, all 500 audience judges rose to applaud the R&B Prince, the scene ablaze with excitement.
Viewers at home now saw Zhang Qiyang, readying himself in the backstage corridor, as the camera cut to him.
The “My Song” forum exploded instantly!—
“Whoa! Cannon Master is out! Cannon fodder, assemble!”
“Change the channel! Change the channel! Change the channel!”
“The number one idiot in the country is going on stage!”
“Cannon Master, mighty as ever!”
“Tonight’s mohawk isn’t bold enough! Needs to be higher for real style!”

“Why’s he holding an acoustic box guitar? Where’s your skull guitar, Cannon Master! We want to see the skull guitar!”
“Looks like he’s not confident tonight, didn’t flip off the camera—thumbs down!”
“Friendly reminder: families with children, turn down the TV volume or your kids will be scared to tears. Don’t blame Cannon Master for being merciless!”
“Cannon Master is going to flatten ‘My Song’!”
…
On stage, the mature and handsome male host, Chen Zixuan, appeared, telling the live audience and viewers at home that one challenger singer remained to perform tonight.
He didn’t announce Zhang Qiyang’s name, but most of the audience already knew who the challenger was.
Many had come specifically to see Cannon Master shake things up.
They hoped for fireworks, ideally for Cannon Master to make a scene—it would be thrilling!
“Woo woo woo—!”
The audience cheered strangely, eager for Cannon Master’s appearance.
Chen Zixuan dampened the rowdy atmosphere, slowly explaining the evening’s challenge rules.
Like the other six singers, the challenger would face both live audience votes and TV viewers’ SMS votes, each accounting for 50% of the score.
Only if his combined support was in the top three would the challenger remain; failing that, he would be declared unsuccessful.
After detailing the rules, Chen Zixuan finally invited Zhang Qiyang on stage: “Now—let’s welcome tonight’s final singer, the challenger for this round, Zhang Qiyang!”
“Oh oh oh—!”
The audience’s excitement peaked!
Many stood, craning their necks toward the entrance, clapping and cheering for Zhang Qiyang.
Some wore expressions of disdain, unhappy with this infamous nepotism hire gracing the stage of “My Song.”
Others discreetly stuffed cotton balls in their ears, unwilling to endure Zhang Qiyang’s gothic howls, so alien they couldn’t accept them.
The atmosphere was lively yet bizarre, reflecting the mixed feelings of the production staff.
Amidst this blend of jeering applause, Zhang Qiyang strode steadily onto the dazzling, light-filled stage.
If one looked closely, they’d see his body trembling—not from stomach pain, but from excitement and nerves, threatening to burst forth uncontrollably!
It was his first time on such a grand stage, his first time before so many live spectators—Zhang Qiyang was ready to explode with nervousness!