Chapter Ninety-Four: Too Hot to Handle

This song by Wang Jianfang, Night of Chang'an, is a rare piece of rock music with not a trace of self-love in it—direct, aggressive!

Its temperament runs to the opposite extreme from Long Press County.

One feels like a brilliant, sunlit day; the other, like a thunderous night of torrential rain!

Perhaps he was born into the family of the richest man, and so by nature regards himself as supreme.

When he sings hard-edged rock like this, Zhang Qiyang is the genuine master of the cannon.

At that moment, his voice was like countless high-pressure shells firing in a volley!

With a raw and natural air of tyranny, it exploded with tremendous force!

A wild barrage, blasting flesh and blood everywhere.

Zhang Qiyang himself got completely high on it too. Slinging the acoustic guitar onto his back, he gripped the microphone with both hands and went on firing like a man singing Qin opera, continuing the assault in a fiercely rugged country accent—

“...A moon of a thousand autumns spills snow over the city, and though the wind has not moved, the heart sways...”

“...Here silhouettes blur; there the wine banners lean, and I lead Li Bai across the street...”

“...Along the ten-mile pavilion road, I part from you in farewell, and the lamps in the distance flicker on and off...”

“...Yellowed memories, fresh illusions, and the story already rewritten without being seen...”

Most of the audience present were southerners, and hearing Zhang Qiyang’s strange way of singing, they all felt an indescribable oddness in their hearts.

His rough, forceful voice was like a hard, grainy club, rubbing with unabashed aggression; it made people itch in both body and soul.

The harmony section sang a brief transition:

“...Right here, there was a promise from a former life; right here, dreams began to cross over...”

Then the surging metal melody split the sky once more—

“...Night of Chang'an! Melt the feelings that have been sealed in me for a thousand years...”

“...Night of Chang'an! Let the heart, through reincarnation, know no more imperfection...”

“...Night of Chang'an! Who understands your ancient, rhymed annotations!...”

“...Night of Chang'an! My night!...”

That savage metal voice was like the Sea-Quelling Needle suddenly enlarged, dancing through the nine heavens!

It sent the audience who had just been pleasantly irritated reeling so hard they were practically flung aside.

When heavy-metal melody collided with Zhang Qiyang’s blunt, roaring vocals, the impact burst into sparks and a fierce blaze, filling everyone present with a thrilling, all-over feverish rush.

At that moment, the first-time live audience finally understood just how ferocious Cannon Master’s live performance could be.

Though to many the song might have sounded too blunt, not especially beautiful, and they still preferred Li Xuan’s exquisitely celestial singing—

it had to be said that the overwhelming impact Zhang Qiyang delivered onstage, like shells blasting through flesh and body alike, gave them an exhilaration they had never experienced before.

It was thrilling to the core.

Zhang Qiyang, singing with his guitar slung backward, carried an arrogance to his bones like the ancient city of Chang'an, which had sealed away a glorious history for more than a thousand years; even a casual flash of radiance from him was dazzling enough to make one take him seriously.

Even those who hated Zhang Qiyang the most, after hearing his full-throttle, domineering performance in person and feeling the hard-edged force erupting from Cannon Master, could not help but sincerely admit that this man was not nearly as worthless as the internet made him out to be.

He was like a landslide of mud and stone overturning rivers and seas: you might hate him, but you could not ignore him; in fact, you might even fear him.

Because with the slightest misstep, you could be swept into his world by that heaven-defying torrent, your mouth sealed with mud, your body turned to clay like a statue.

And once dried, you would be blasted by his firepower into dust and ashes.

In the end, you would become a puff of cannon fodder carried away by the wind, never able to return to your old, delicate, fresh little world again.

Many of the younger audience members who had previously witnessed Zhang Qiyang’s invincible live singing later came out of the recording already shattered into die-hard cannon fodder.

Today’s audience was more evenly spread in age, and hotheaded young people were not the majority.

While enjoying the unparalleled sensory impact of Zhang Qiyang’s arrogant metal roar, most people also felt a faint resistance in their hearts.

Perhaps because he had fused two songs together, it lacked the coherence and force of his earlier work, and did not leave the audience as unable to let go as before.

Though Zhang Qiyang’s performance today was still explosive, the audience remained restrained.

They looked at him the way one looks at drugs, unwilling to become addicted to Cannon Master too easily.

The professional judges and musicians at the venue, however, were utterly delighted by this explosive performance.

Once again they were treated to the baptism of the finest rock voice in the Chinese music world, and enjoyed it immensely.

By now, these people were all invisible cannon fodder in the realm of music.

The singers backstage, hearing Zhang Qiyang’s earth-shaking performance, also felt a pleasure that loosened every bone and sinew in their bodies.

To these professionals, Zhang Qiyang’s singing was like nicotine: when first encountered, it did not make one addicted; it might even cause nausea.

But once you experienced the distinctive pleasure he could bring, you would gradually accept him and slowly develop a craving.

Then hearing him sing was like a cigarette after a meal—nothing less than paradise.

The millions of cannon fodder before their television sets felt this even more strongly.

Whenever Cannon Master delivered an unusually brilliant performance, their spirits felt as though they had been blasted into outer space by a rocket shell, producing an ecstatic rush beyond compare.

This was an utterly pure mental pleasure, one that only Cannon Master, with his originality and difference, could provide; no one else could.

The black fans and those who disliked Zhang Qiyang were extremely upset at such times.

They could not bear to look straight at the formidable strength he displayed in music.

They simply hated him as a person.

Perhaps it was jealousy of the rich, or perhaps they simply detested the arrogance that clung to him; in any case, they could not accept this man rising to the peak of life.

Wang Dazhong was the leader and archetype of such people.

He could not stand to see anything good happen to Zhang Qiyang.

Recently, after being cursed at by Zhang Qiyang, he had been burning with fury.

Wang Dazhong could hardly wait to see Zhang Qiyang make a fool of himself, humiliate himself, and then be ruthlessly kicked while down.

Yet Zhang Qiyang was becoming more and more popular in the entertainment world, more and more at ease in its waters, and this made Wang Dazhong furious beyond endurance.

That night, after watching Zhang Qiyang’s explosive competition performance, Wang Dazhong was nearly driven to smash the television.

No matter how he thought about it, he could not understand how this idiot had suddenly become so formidable.

Even if he had a team behind him pushing him forward, he should not be rising like a rocket at such an insane pace.

Damn it—could he really be the chosen one?!

Even if he was the chosen one, they would still have to drag him down from the horse.

With his dead-fish eyes rolling, Wang Dazhong prepared to take ruthless measures against Zhang Qiyang.

He could not stand by and watch Zhang Qiyang remain so arrogant.

If Zhang Qiyang kept acting this way, his own position as the number-one young master among the elite would no longer be secure.

Onstage, Zhang Qiyang sang as if overturning sun and moon, venting the homesickness and parting sorrows buried deep in his heart with the most sincere and explosive voice.

Whether the audience liked him as a person or not, after watching such a fiery performance, they all rose from the heart to offer him applause in tribute.

Thunderous applause swept the hall.

The whole audience stood and clapped, bidding Zhang Qiyang farewell as he left the stage.

The people from Chu Entertainment saw this and their hearts sank.

With Zhou Delin, Li Xuan, and Zhang Qiyang all competing in succession, each performance more explosive than the last, each one winning a standing ovation from the audience, the situation had become far too dangerous for Zhao Ziqi.

Could Zhao Ziqi possibly snatch a top-three finish from the hands of these two masters and one monster?

The people from Chu Entertainment were worried sick for her.

Zhang Qiyang was worried about Zhao Ziqi too.

As he came offstage and saw the audience applauding him with such enthusiasm, he knew he had sung too explosively and lost control.

If he accidentally crushed little Zhao with a knockout blow, there would be no fun left later on.

This competition performance had not been showy at all; it had been too low-key. Definitely do not let him win the championship.

If he did win, he would not even know how to brag about it.

Maybe after the livestream ended, he would immediately post a photo of the championship trophy, along with the caption: Easy!

On the way to the backstage lounge, Zhang Qiyang smiled, already beginning to look forward to his fourth music-show trophy.