Chapter Eight: These People Have No Sense of Honor!

That night, countless people lay awake, waiting for the music charts to update.

Just after midnight.

Liu Zhengwen began frantically refreshing the rankings.

He had his computer open to CloudNet. As the largest and most visited music platform in China, CloudNet was the benchmark of authority. Virtually every singer in the country relied on its charts to gauge the real value of their releases.

"Top ten!"

"Top ten!"

He kept refreshing for a full five minutes before finally seeing the updated Newcomer and New Song charts appear before him.

And then—

He froze.

Shameless!

Utterly shameless!

With just a glance at the rankings, his heart plummeted into an abyss.

He realized that several entertainment companies had been hiding their true strength.

For instance:

Among those releasing songs this time, there weren’t just one, but three top-tier singers!

And there weren’t just eight second-tier singers, but double that—sixteen.

Especially the Newcomer Chart—was there really a need to be this shameless?

Several of the so-called “newcomers” were already well-established celebrities in the film and television industry. How was that fair?

There were even internet-famous singers with hundreds of thousands of followers on Douyin—how could they be considered newcomers?

These so-called “newcomers” brought massive fanbases with them by default.

Looking at his own company’s artists, they were simply outmatched.

The charts had barely refreshed, and his company’s singers were already nowhere to be seen.

Although the first few hours of the rankings didn’t mean much, he seemed to foresee the miserable fate awaiting his artists.

Disaster!

Where had all his confidence gone?

Half an hour ago, Liu Zhengwen had been full of self-assurance, but now his face fell.

“Damn it, these people play dirty!”

He was utterly crushed.

Listlessly, he picked up his phone and dialed a number. “Honey, didn’t you buy a handbag a few days ago?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Return it.”

“What?”

“And last week, you ordered a set of cosmetics, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“Return those too.”

Click!

Before his wife could explode, he hung up.

Come what may! Let all the thunderbolts strike me.

He gave up.

He no longer cared.

Strangely, Liu Zhengwen now felt an odd sense of ease.

He turned off his phone and went home—or rather, no, he didn’t go home. He went out to wander the city bridges.

...

While Liu Zhengwen was out braving the night air, the internet—especially CloudNet—was already ablaze.

In a CloudNet fan group named “Discoverer No. 1,” messages flooded in like a waterfall, with new ones every second.

“Wow, three top-tier singers this August?”

“What a spectacle.”

“Ayu’s new song is great!”

“Hey everyone, check out this track.”

“This one’s good too.”

“Guys, start scouring the charts! Same rules as always: anyone who finds a hidden gem gets to be admin for a month!”

“This time, I’m definitely taking the admin spot!”

“Hah! You think you can beat me?”

This group, boasting two thousand members, was made up entirely of CloudNet’s veteran fans—anyone with an account below level 8 wasn’t even allowed in.

Level 10 diehards were everywhere.

There was a tradition: every month when the new song chart went live, everyone would scour the vast music library for hidden treasures. If anyone managed to unearth an overlooked gem and win the group’s recognition, they would be appointed admin for the month.

For the members, this was a matter of great honor.

So, just after midnight, the night owls in the group all flocked to CloudNet.

Zhou Tao was July’s admin.

Back then, with his sharp ear, he’d discovered a nearly buried hit, earning him the group’s respect and the admin role.

This month, he was determined to defend his title.

But impatience never pays off. After more than half an hour browsing dozens of new songs, nothing caught his ear.

“Seems like this month’s releases aren’t much good,” he sighed, but then brightened. If the quality was low, his admin spot would be safe.

Just as Zhou Tao’s thoughts drifted—

Suddenly.

The group erupted.

“Holy crap! This song!”

“No way, there’s a track like this?”

“I’m blown away!”

“Oh my god!”

“Incredible! Absolutely insane!”

“I’m on my knees.”

What’s happening?

Zhou Tao hurriedly scrolled through the chat, only to find that a member named “Happily in Pain” had shared a link. That was the song that had caused such an uproar.

No way! Someone found a good song before me?

Impossible! How could someone be faster?

Though skeptical, Zhou Tao clicked the link posted by “Happily in Pain.” The song was called “Doesn’t Matter.”

He wanted to know what made this track so special, to cause such excitement.

Even last month’s discovery hadn’t drawn such a reaction from the group.

The music began.

The intro was pleasant but unremarkable.

But a few seconds in, a hoarse yet instantly recognizable voice suddenly crashed into his ears:

“It doesn’t matter who falls in love with whom
It doesn’t matter who leaves whom in pain”

Like a bolt of lightning in the dark, Zhou Peng—who had been sitting somewhat slouched—instantly straightened, his entire body tingling.

That voice?

That singing?

He paused for a few seconds, then hurriedly pulled off his S220BT headphones and put on his cherished HD820s.

Below ten thousand yuan, all you hear is noise.
Above ten thousand, you discover true beauty.

“Moments of happiness are fleeting beauty
After happiness, comes suffering
Right and wrong are no longer so absolute
Truth and lies, I no longer say I have no regrets
If things shatter, let them shatter—why seek perfection?
Only by letting myself go can I truly soar”

The melancholic singing brought Zhou Peng a sensory experience unlike any before, piercing deep into his soul. The unique raspiness was almost overwhelming, hard to believe a song could be sung in such a way.

Zhou Peng was a music enthusiast, as evidenced by the dozens of headphones in his room and his level 10 CloudNet certification.

But rarely had a song struck him so profoundly.

“It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter
Forgive all the world’s wrongs
It doesn’t matter, I don’t care
No need to suffer in endless cycles
I don’t care”

Zhou Peng felt his very soul trembling.

He’d heard countless raspy voices—some forced, some feigned. But this singer’s roughness was natural, magical.

Unprecedented.

One of a kind.

Even more compelling was the emotional delivery, which seemed to swirl into a vortex, almost dragging him into an abyss of pain. The sorrowful interpretation, the unique voice, gave the song a vitality all its own.

He heard an artist’s anguished cry.

He heard a soul lost in darkness, searching for a way out.

Doesn’t matter?

Who can truly say it doesn’t matter?

Only those who listen with their heart can taste the melancholy in the song, unable to help but sink into it as well.

“Right and wrong are no longer so absolute
Truth and lies, I no longer say I have no regrets
If things shatter, let them shatter—why seek perfection?
Only by letting myself go can I truly soar
...
I don’t care
En AhAhAh...
YeahLi...
I don’t care”

Only by letting go can one truly fly.

Only by experiencing and understanding everything in life can one achieve true indifference.

Zhou Peng was shaken, nearly seeing through the meaning of life itself.

Only as the song faded did he snap out of his trance and look at the artist’s information.

Artist: Hao Mingxing.
Works: 1.

He didn’t check the songwriter or composer—who ever does? People just care about the singer.

Zhou Peng’s heart pounded. “A newcomer—really a newcomer.”

But!

Could a newcomer really sing like this?

Only now did he understand why the group had erupted moments ago.

He glanced back at the chat.

If the group had been lively before, now it was a volcanic eruption.