Chapter 38: Commanding the Entire Stage

On the stage, under the colorful lights, vibrant mist swirled, creating an ethereal scene reminiscent of a fairyland. Qin Haiyu bowed her head slightly, her left hand gently pinching the long blue pleated skirt she wore. Her sorrowful singing, soft as flowing water, drifted through the sound system, echoing tenderly to every corner of the studio:

“Gardenia flower,
White petals,
Falling on my blue pleated skirt.
Love you,
You whisper softly.
I bow my head,
Catching a waft of fragrance…”

Watching the lyrics scroll across the giant screen, listening to Qin Haiyu’s voice, the judges and audience only now realized that the blue pleated skirt she wore tonight was chosen specifically for this song, “Afterwards.”

Among the judges, a woman discreetly dabbed at her tears with a tissue. Perhaps she was genuinely moved, though once the show aired, the viewers would surely accuse her of overacting.

One judge nodded, whispering to a colleague, “Another new song! I bet it’s her husband’s work again!”

“I just looked it up online—there are several songs called ‘Afterwards,’ but none with these lyrics.”

…

Qin Haiyu glanced at the teleprompter at the front of the audience, where the lyrics she could already recite backwards scrolled by:

“Why was love back then
So simple?
And why,
When we’re young,
Must we hurt those we love deeply?
On nights like this,
Are you, too,
Silently regretting and grieving?”

By this point in the song, many in the hall were indeed lost in regret and sorrow.

It’s said that those who love melancholy love songs are more sensitive and easily moved. There were many such people in the audience.

In this moment, not only did several women weep, but even some men were visibly moved to tears.

Some revealed true emotion.

Some did so, perhaps, out of professional courtesy.

Backstage, the other three finalists—Teacher Wu Xiaoqian, Ye Fei, and Chen Yuzhong—watched the performance.

Teacher Wu nodded, “These lyrics paired with Qin Haiyu’s deeply emotional voice are truly heart-piercing!”

Chen Yuzhong simply nodded without comment, while Ye Fei said, “Sister Haiyu’s song—could it be her husband’s again? Teacher Wu, have you heard this one before?”

“It must be new!” Wu replied. “Perhaps her husband really did write another new song for her!”

Chen Yuzhong added, “To retire at the height of her career and return now with three exquisite new songs—this is the triumphant return of a real queen!”

Ye Fei looked at the screen, watching Qin Haiyu’s performance with envy and a growing sense of pressure. She’d been confident she would win, but with Qin Haiyu entering the finals at the last moment, that confidence was shaken.

In terms of looks, figure, and vocal talent, Ye Fei had to admit—even if unwillingly—that she came up short. Not to mention, Qin Haiyu had a musically gifted husband supporting her.

“How do you remember me?
With a smile or in silence?
All these years,
Has anyone kept you from feeling lonely…”

In that instant, the song ignited everyone’s emotions.

How do you remember me?

Many thought of their old crushes, their first loves, or the ones that got away. At this moment, the memories stored deep within their hearts surged forth, unleashed by Qin Haiyu’s “Afterwards.”

They didn’t know whether, when remembered by the other, it was with a smile or in silence. But when they remembered that person, all that remained was silence and sorrow.

Qin Haiyu’s voice struck the softest, most sensitive places deep inside them.

“Afterwards,
I finally learned how to love,
But you were already gone,
Lost in the sea of people.
Afterwards,
Through tears, I finally understood,
Some people, once missed, are gone forever…”

Qin Haiyu lifted her head, her gaze shining as she sang the final line:

“There will never be another chance; once, a boy loved that girl…”

The microphone slowly left her lips. Qin Haiyu looked toward the audience and saw that several girls in the front row were sobbing uncontrollably.

This didn’t seem like professional courtesy; it seemed the song had truly moved them, stirring memories of their own past.

Perhaps, in their hearts, there had once been such a boy too.

As the final notes faded, the stage returned to the calm that preceded the performance. Ni Qiqin, dressed in a white gown, walked onto the stage, her expression no longer wearing the constant smile from before.

Clearly, this song had touched the softest part of her own heart as well.

Her voice trembled, her eyes wet as she hosted, “Though as a host I shouldn’t let personal feelings sway me or campaign for anyone, this is the first song on this stage to move me to tears. I’d like to take this opportunity to share my feelings.”

Qin Haiyu hugged Ni Qiqin gently. Though she herself hadn’t cried while singing, the listeners had.

This comforted her, for it meant that her performance—both emotionally and technically—had been flawless.

Ni Qiqin wiped her tears with a small ball of tissue and said, “I believe many people’s experiences are reflected in this song. I actually want to say to those who care about me: I’m doing well now, truly well. Though I’m not in a relationship, my life is fulfilling.

Though sometimes the nights feel lonely, I am not alone. My only regret and guilt is toward my parents’ worries and urgings about marriage. I hope everyone here can meet the right person, someone they can trust and rely on, and live a life full of hope and anticipation.”

Had she not spoken these words, some in the audience might have held back their tears. But as she spoke, even those who hadn’t cried found themselves moved.

She laughed through her tears. “Sorry, I lost my composure a bit. Judges, do you have any questions or comments?”

At that moment, a middle-aged composer on the front row pressed the ‘like’ button and remarked, “There are several songs called ‘Afterwards’ online, but from today on, the one people remember will be Qin Haiyu’s version!”

“Thank you.” Qin Haiyu hadn’t expected such high praise from a senior musician.

Another judge asked, “I’d like to know, was this ‘Afterwards’ written, like ‘Cherry Blossom Grass,’ by your husband?”

Qin Haiyu nodded, “Yes, this ‘Afterwards’ was composed by my husband. The song tells the love story of the main characters from his novel, ‘Aegean Love.’”

The judge exclaimed, “’Little Luck,’ ‘Cherry Blossom Grass,’ ‘Afterwards’—your husband is truly a musical genius! Giving up writing novels to compose music was a wise choice and shows real confidence!”

Qin Haiyu smiled and thanked him. She had wanted to say it wasn’t necessarily such a wise choice, since her husband’s novels—especially his published works—were highly successful. But saying more risked the show’s producers thinking she was advertising for her husband’s books, so she let it go.

The judges continued to praise her. Once again, all thirty gave Qin Haiyu their approval.

Even Zhang Dahua, who’d been put to shame by Qin Haiyu in the first half and hadn’t spoken this time, pressed the ‘like’ button in the end. He might still resent being embarrassed earlier, but he recognized that “Afterwards” would surely be a hit when the show aired, and he couldn’t risk being criticized for not supporting her.

Ni Qiqin collected herself, returning to her hosting duties. “Now we’ll open the audience voting! If Qin Haiyu’s ‘Afterwards’ moved you, press the vote button now—voting will close in thirty seconds!”

Onstage, Qin Haiyu looked out over the audience. Everywhere she could see, people were mashing their voting devices with their thumbs, over and over.

She truly felt, just as her husband had said, that she had stunned the entire hall with her debut, conquering the room with her performance.