Chapter 31: Suppressed Power, Gathering Momentum

Zhang Qiyang’s appearance tonight was absolutely off-putting, but at this moment, the ratings for "My Song" hit a new high for the evening, breaking straight through the 4% mark! This was the only thing the production team could feel grateful for.

Luo Tao could only hope Zhang Qiyang would hurry up and sing, rather than keep scaring everyone with this look—if he was being honest. The song Zhang Qiyang had chosen for tonight, “This Is the New Shit,” was explosive; perhaps once the music started, the audience’s discomfort would be temporarily suppressed.

Standing center stage, Zhang Qiyang didn’t start singing immediately. He suddenly shot a ghoul-like glance toward the lighting crew. So, you want to keep me in the dark? Come on, then! With my face painted this pale, I’d like to see how you make me any less visible!

His gaze was icy with anger, enough to send a chill through Bao Zicheng and Ma Chao. People who do wrong are always haunted by their own deeds, and now confronted by a real “ghost,” neither dared act rashly. Ma Chao looked pleadingly at Bao Zicheng, as if to ask: Boss, are we still going to dim his lights?

Bao Zicheng’s heart was pounding. He decided not to kill all Zhang Qiyang’s main spotlights—just two would do. This crazy young master was simply too ruthless; he didn’t dare provoke him any further. The two dimmed a couple of his lights, ostensibly for his own good—if all the lights were on with that deathly face paint, his ghostly visage would be blasted across the stage.

Amid the chatter of five hundred live audience members, Zhang Qiyang wore a ‘couldn’t care less’ expression. Inside, he was tense, but more than that, he brimmed with a restless urge to erupt! The original soul’s deep-seated cynicism was flaring up within him. Bursting with a wild, defiant energy—if the world condemned him, he would rage right back at the world—Zhang Qiyang was like a sonic warhead, ready to unleash a storm so wild he could shred every eardrum in the hall.

As the audience quieted, Zhang Qiyang fixed them with devilish eyes under heavy black shadow. Leaning into the mic, he intoned in a suppressed, chilling voice: “This Is the New Shit.”

The match between his voice and his image sent chills down many spines. For a split second, some even wondered: was this really Zhang Qiyang, the final contestant of the night, or had some demon descended onto the “My Song” stage?

He didn’t bow to the band, nor even glance their way. Instead, with a snap of his fingers, he signaled for the music—an act of brazen insolence.

Music director Chen Dahai and the musicians had already been stunned speechless by Zhang Qiyang’s entrance. Now, with his imperious gesture, they were utterly thrown. A seasoned musician like Chen Dahai had his pride; being ordered about by a newcomer irked him. But mindful of Zhang Qiyang’s status as the son of the nation’s richest man—and worried he might cause a scandal—he dared not protest. Gritting his teeth, he gave the cue, and the band struck up a dark overture.

To both the live and TV audience, Zhang Qiyang’s insolent finger snap followed by the battle-like overture in the darkness was nothing short of blazing cool—classic Firecracker style! Some might think him rude, but more were swept up by the drama, as if a dark army were about to sweep the stage, like a scene from a gothic fantasy film.

This audiovisual impact was the polar opposite of Li Xuan’s radiant, dazzling performance earlier. Li Xuan’s “Painted Faces” began with grand orchestration, transporting the audience to an opera house, her voice heavenly as if she’d brought them to paradise.

Zhang Qiyang’s opening, in contrast, was a gust of thick darkness, as if he meant to drag everyone down to hell. The ominous, powerful prelude seized the audience’s attention from the first note. It was as if a black rain fell on the stage, and from its shadows, the demon slowly revealed his twisted face.

With a hoarse voice and a bit of distance from the mic, Zhang Qiyang began his dark massacre in a highly industrial style. He copied the masterful vocal effects of Marilyn Manson, making his opening strangely psychedelic—like a cult song from an old vinyl, tinged with retro flavor and chilling menace.

The subtitles seen by the audience—both on screen and at home—were tasteful and restrained. But in Zhang Qiyang’s mind, what he was really singing went something like this:

...
Everything has been said before
Everything is already set
There’s nothing left to say anymore
So I couldn’t care less to say more to you idiots
When it’s all the same
You fools are all the same anyway
You can ask for it by name
Just wait for your comeuppance, you cowards!
...

His inner monologue revealed just how turbulent and furious he felt. After being vilified for so many days, even a saint would lose his temper! Tonight, Zhang Qiyang was going to pour all his wrath back on those who cursed him.

If you’re going to spread negativity, I’ll do it even better!

The audience, however, still hadn’t picked up that this hypnotic opening was only the prelude to a coming sonic onslaught. Hearing only the murmured intro, many detractors smirked, thinking their plan had worked—Zhang Qiyang was once again singing something unpleasant, and would surely embarrass himself on stage.

But those who knew music could tell from the intro that this was no ordinary song. Zhang Qiyang’s industrial vocals, paired with the explosive electronic metal arrangement, were a perfect match—a tightly compressed buildup. Anyone who’d ever written music could sense: this song was about to blow them away.

And the real explosion was still to come.

As the tempo suddenly surged, Zhang Qiyang’s voice seemed to leap from vinyl, radiating raw negativity and the allure of decadence, seeping ever more clearly into every listener’s ears.

This section was rap, with subtitles still sanitized for the audience. But what Zhang Qiyang actually fired out, like a machine gun, was raw and explicit. Anyone with a good grasp of English could tell he wasn’t singing “Six” as the subtitles suggested—he was laying bare the original sins of mankind.

In his mind, the lyrics went like this:

...
Babble, Babble, Bitch, Bitch
Chatter, chatter, bitch, bitch
Rebel, Rebel, Party, Party
Show off, show off, all crowd together
Sex, sex, sex, don’t forget the violence
Fooling around and never forget to get rough!
Blah, blah, blah
Blah blah, say what you want!
Got your lovey-dovey sad and lonely
You outcast fools
Stick your stupid slogan in
Stop making long-winded declarations
Everybody sing along
Come on, let’s scream and vent!
...

The directors were on the verge of panic—this rap was nothing like what Zhang Qiyang had sung in rehearsal! The melody was similar, but the content was worlds apart. With such filthy lyrics going out live, there was no way “My Song” would escape a regulatory fine this week.

A female director angrily asked Luo Tao, “Boss, is he singing ‘Six’? Why does it sound like ‘Sex’ to me?”

At that moment, Luo Tao’s head was about to explode. He had an impulse to cut the music altogether, but doing so would only blow up the scandal further. He could only hope the audience wouldn’t catch the “nuance” in the lyrics and grit his teeth until it was over.

He lied to his staff, “Zhang Qiyang studied in England. That’s a London accent.”

London accent? The staff were not fools. They’d all heard Zhang Qiyang sing “Six” in rehearsal, and this was absolutely “Sex”—a complete change from before.

But there was nothing they could do now but, like Luo Tao, delude themselves and hope the altered lyrics wouldn’t cause an uproar.

Most of the audience relied on subtitles to follow English songs, and few really noticed what Zhang Qiyang was actually singing. Besides, he spat the words out so fast that listeners had no time to react.

The dark war drums had already sounded. As the audience, derided as fools by Zhang Qiyang, caught the edge of a suffocating thrill, the furious sonic wave was poised to erupt, ready to ignite the crowd’s blood and break loose in a wild frenzy.