Chapter 6: Leaving Midway

Although Zhang Qiyang’s half-song was not earth-shattering, the stark contrast in his image stunned everyone present. The six singers competing backstage had braced themselves for what they expected to be a disastrous performance, but to their surprise, they found themselves tasting a soup that was, in fact, quite palatable.

The oldest among them, Tan Zhizhong, who was as old as the richest man Zhang Zhenhua, was the first to express his feelings, “Young Yang’s singing has a certain charm to it.”

Beside Tan Zhizhong sat the cool rocker Zhao Lei, who shrugged with visible disdain. In his opinion, Zhang Qiyang’s singing was mediocre at best, lacking any real emotional impact—a mere gimmick of “tender rock.”

But Ji Chunying, a thirty-year-old female singer known for her powerful voice, was drawn in by Zhang Qiyang’s magnetic tone. Her gaze never left the close-up of him, as if trying to unravel why this usually cynical scion of the Zhang family had undergone such a dramatic transformation tonight.

Next to Ji Chunying sat Yue Li, another singer of the same age, who hailed from a rival company to Dongyu. She furrowed her delicate brows, calculating inwardly: With Dongyu’s strong backing, was this notorious troublemaker about to reinvent himself as a reliable singer? Judging by this performance, there was indeed something interesting in his singing.

Setting aside technical critiques, this song was certainly not in Zhang Qiyang’s usual dark gothic style. It must have been written by a top composer from Dongyu. Given this stylistic shift, Dongyu was likely planning an aggressive promotion for Zhang Qiyang.

Li Xuan, Dongyu’s leading female singer, was utterly baffled: How had the arrogant, unruly young master of the Zhang family suddenly changed so much? What intrigued her even more was—who had written this song for him?

For singers of Li Xuan’s caliber, hearing an outstanding work always stirs a desire to perform it herself. This unexpected “Night Star” was precisely the kind of song that, on first listen, made Li Xuan yearn to sing it.

She was convinced that a Dongyu composer had written it for Zhang Qiyang. Why hadn’t they let her sample it first? If she sang this song, it would surely move the audience even more than Zhang Qiyang did! She could make it a hit!

In today’s Mandarin music scene, works with genuine hit potential were increasingly rare. As a newly crowned queen of the stage, Li Xuan desperately needed blazing singles to solidify her status. Missing out on such a gem left her with a sour, jealous feeling.

That sense of loss only made her dislike Zhang Qiyang more. If not for his wealthy family, how could he possibly perform such a moving piece on such a prestigious stage? Comparing oneself to others was truly infuriating!

In the backstage live room, as the song went on, the directors were bewildered by Zhang Qiyang’s atypical performance. Though the song he was singing was quite pleasant, they still feared something might go awry—would this reckless young master suddenly stop singing halfway and start ranting?

Those who knew Zhang Qiyang best, Qin Xueyang and Chen Ke, shared the same worry.

Both silently prayed that Zhang Qiyang’s abnormal composure would hold, that he wouldn’t revert to his usual self.

Suddenly, Qin Xueyang noticed that during the instrumental, as Zhang Qiyang played guitar, his gaze wavered unnaturally; his expression and posture became stiff, and the melody lost its earlier smoothness.

Qin Xueyang’s heart sank—was disaster about to strike? Was the troublesome young master about to revert?

Though his soul was unlikely to return, at that moment, Zhang Qiyang felt as if his stomach might explode. He drew a sharp breath, ready to sing the latter half, but his rear nearly caught fire—a fright that nearly knocked him flat.

Damn it!

How could this happen at such a crucial moment?

I haven’t finished putting on my act!

His face twisted in agony, as if he’d swallowed bitter herbs. The melody in his hands became chaotic.

He fought to hold his breath, desperately trying to suppress the eruption within him.

But the more he resisted, the more unstoppable the flood inside his belly seemed!

Ugh!

His intestines gurgled violently, turning his face a sickly green.

He almost lost control right there on stage!

Ah! He couldn’t hold it any longer!

With a sudden grimace, Zhang Qiyang swept his guitar strings, ending the song with an awkward, abrupt finale.

As the music faded, the venue fell silent.

Everyone was dumbfounded, unable to comprehend why Zhang Qiyang had stopped playing and singing.

Was this a deliberate pause before the climax?

But Zhang Qiyang quickly grabbed the microphone and uttered a rushed, “Thank you!”

Then, without a backward glance, he strode offstage, moving faster with every step.

By the time he reached the passageway, he was running, hands clamped behind him, waddling like a giant penguin.

The live audience was stunned.

Viewers at home were stunned.

The staff and musicians were stunned.

The other singers backstage were stunned.

Even the seasoned directors in the production team were stunned.

Luo Tao’s glasses nearly slid off his nose as he muttered, “What is he doing?”

A backstage worker soon reported via radio, “Zhang Qiyang has run to the restroom—he says he can’t hold it anymore.”

“Pfft.”

The staff in the live room burst into laughter.

Luo Tao was speechless, hastily instructing the host to announce the end of Zhang Qiyang’s performance.

Though it felt farcical, at least Zhang Qiyang hadn’t caused any major trouble for the show, and everyone was deeply relieved.

Reflecting on Zhang Qiyang’s rendition of “Night Star,” Luo Tao felt a pang of regret.

As a producer for a top-tier music variety show, Luo Tao had a sharp ear for music.

He could tell that Zhang Qiyang’s version of “Night Star” was deeply moving—had he finished the song, it could have become a viral sensation. Unfortunately, this young master was simply unreliable; others had given him such a fantastic piece, but he wasted the opportunity himself—truly a hopeless case!

Having performed for barely over a minute before abruptly leaving, Zhang Qiyang sparked an uproar among the audience. When host Chen Zixuan took the stage to announce the final performance had concluded, both the live and television audiences exploded!

People could not understand why Zhang Qiyang’s song had ended so quickly.

This was a blatant disrespect for the stage of “I Sing”!

Look at the other singers—how hard they worked, seizing every second to showcase their talent and cherish their time on this stage.

But the young master of the Zhang family, after humming a few lines, simply vanished—as if he didn’t care about the stage at all!

Granted, his brief “Night Star” was beautiful, but his attitude toward the stage and music infuriated everyone.

The audience soon rallied together, spreading the word not to vote for Zhang Qiyang—never had they seen a singer with so little professional integrity!

Everyone knew Zhang Qiyang lacked professionalism, but to not even please the crowd and launch into a tirade at such a high-profile event was truly disappointing!

Except for a handful of die-hard fans, there was no way anyone else would vote for him.

The “I Sing” forum was flooded once more.

Those who had recovered from shock, along with his detractors, launched a fierce war of words, debating whether the young master’s sudden departure was his usual contemptuous performance art, or simply the act of a coward fleeing the stage—