Chapter 53: A Stunning Rehearsal

Luo Tao and Xiao Meiyun fell silent.

In contrast, Chen Dahai was eager for Zhang Qiyang to perform “Bombast” right away. Conducting such a piece live on stage would ignite even greater enthusiasm and passion within him. Just like last week, when Zhang Qiyang sang “Fresh Shit”—despite the massive controversy and Zhang’s unapologetic stage presence—the truth was, being a part of that song had been exhilarating for Chen Dahai and the other musicians. It was a real thrill.

People working in music, immersed in notes and modes year after year, often find that much has become stale and monotonous. Only performances that are truly novel and shocking can awaken their nearly numb passion.

This song, “Bombast,” used only the simple chords Em, D, and C, propelled by a 6/8 rock rhythm—nothing extraordinary in itself. Yet, the arrangement’s opening, with its melody mimicking the eerie timbre of a theremin, was seductive in its strangeness.

The first time Chen Dahai heard this melody in the demo, he was instantly moved. He knew at once that this song was another stroke of genius from the mysterious team behind Zhang Qiyang. The arrangement and melody were highly distinctive, occasionally laced with subtle classical touches and a retro piano harmony that simulated the style of 1970s British Art Rock—a rarity in the Chinese music scene.

Coupled with Zhang Qiyang’s performance, which grew more wild and fractured with each phrase, the song exuded a demonic quality that made Chen Dahai especially eager to participate in its live rendition.

If Zhang Qiyang could deliver well in competition, this performance would surely become another classic moment in “My Song,” one to be savored and remembered.

During earlier production meetings, Chen Dahai had advocated for Zhang Qiyang to perform this song immediately. However, both Luo Tao and Xiao Meiyun felt that singing “Bombast” at the height of such public scrutiny was ill-advised.

Unable to overrule his higher-ups, Chen Dahai was forced to select a positive, motivational piece for Zhang Qiyang, brimming with uplifting energy—as they required.

But deep down, Chen Dahai had little interest in those motivational songs, endlessly covered and rearranged to the point where nothing new could be done with them. He only wanted to hear Zhang Qiyang sing “Bombast”.

Now, seeing that Zhang Qiyang was equally uninterested in those inspirational pieces and insisted on performing “Bombast,” Chen Dahai silently gave him a thumbs-up.

After a moment’s consideration, Luo Tao and Xiao Meiyun still thought it inappropriate for Zhang Qiyang to sing “Bombast.” Zhang Qiyang himself was unafraid of public backlash; with the support of his billionaire family, even if the entertainment world turned against him, he could walk away and still enjoy a life of luxury.

But for Luo Tao and Xiao Meiyun, if a program as prestigious as “My Song” were to fail under their watch, it would be difficult for them to maintain their footing in the television variety industry. At the very least, they wouldn’t land another show with such stellar reputation anytime soon.

Thinking primarily of the show’s welfare, Xiao Meiyun tried to persuade Zhang Qiyang: “We understand how you feel. But perhaps you could try approaching things from a different perspective—experiment with performing something in another style, see how the audience responds and how public opinion shifts, and then make a more personal choice. Wouldn’t that be a safer way forward?”

Luo Tao added, “Our suggestions are for your benefit. We’ve analyzed past data: when singers choose songs with high audience acceptance, they receive much greater support than when they perform obscure pieces. We’ve produced a whole season and four episodes now—most singers choose to cover songs they’re most skilled at, rarely opting for new songs in consecutive rounds. That’s simply too risky.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zhang Qiyang replied, steadfast in his choice. “I’m naturally drawn to risk; I’m not afraid of failure. I only want to present the audience with the most distinctive performance. If they want the popular hits, other singers can deliver those. I’ll give them something different—won’t that make our program richer?”

Before Luo Tao could continue to persuade him, Zhang Qiyang cut in: “Director Luo, Director Xiao, please, there’s no need to say more. I won’t change my song. I’ve been preparing this number for a long time—let’s just focus on rehearsal. I believe my performance this week will win the audience over. I can promise you, for the official competition this week, I won’t make any unauthorized changes. You have my word. I’ll rehearse everything thoroughly, both the interpretation and the performance.”

Luo Tao and Xiao Meiyun were left helpless. It was clear Zhang Qiyang was set on dragging their show into another risky venture.

He continued, “I hope you can give me some constructive feedback on the staging for this song; I’ll do my best to improve. Although I did accept a trophy on another program midweek, please don’t misunderstand my intentions. It’s not that I don’t value our show—on the contrary, I care about it greatly. I want us to have higher ratings, more buzz, and richer topics for discussion. The stage of ‘My Song’ is the most prestigious and high-profile in the Chinese music world right now. I want to give the audience my best work and my best performance here. I have no interest in merely covering others’ songs—I want to sing my own.”

Despite his confidence, the three across from him felt his audacity surpassed anything they had expected.

He claimed all those songs were his own? Was that possible? These distinctive, high-quality works clearly came from a powerful team behind him. Yet from his tone, it was as if he’d written them all himself.

Chen Dahai merely smiled and said nothing, choosing not to expose the truth. If Zhang Qiyang said he wrote them, so be it.

Regardless of the songwriting, Zhang Qiyang’s voice was beyond reproach. Especially live, the overwhelming power and explosive energy of his vocals, his evocative sense of space, and his magnetic, world-weary tone set him apart in the Chinese music scene.

Chen Dahai looked forward to Zhang Qiyang’s “Bombast.” He could already sense that this would be a performance of tremendous impact. He was eager to help Zhang Qiyang rehearse.

Seeing Zhang Qiyang’s resolve, Luo Tao and Xiao Meiyun had no choice but to let him have his way. This time, his assurance that he wouldn’t make unauthorized changes put them somewhat at ease.

During the subsequent rehearsal, Luo Tao and Xiao Meiyun closely monitored Zhang Qiyang’s performance, offering corrective suggestions whenever he strayed toward the unconventional. To their surprise, Zhang Qiyang readily accepted these suggestions, which left Qin Xueyang rather unsettled.

She was filled with resentment: whenever she offered advice, Zhang Qiyang never listened; but when others did, he accepted everything. This was nothing short of discrimination against her character! Infuriating!

She vented her frustration by devouring a mountain of fried dumplings delivered to the rehearsal room during Zhang Qiyang’s practice.

The production staff, meanwhile, experienced yet another rehearsal that left them astounded and deeply impressed.

Zhang Qiyang only performed at about seventy percent of his capacity during rehearsal. Chen Dahai and the musicians, now familiar with Zhang Qiyang’s abilities, recognized that he was holding back. Even so, his rehearsal was intensely moving.

Many staff members found themselves abandoning their work mid-song, completely absorbed by Zhang Qiyang’s wild, blood-tinged vocals—utterly shaken by “Bombast.” They could all sense that, in the next day’s competition, this young scion of the richest family was poised to deliver another jaw-dropping show.

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That evening at eight o’clock, Chen Ke arranged a dinner at a private, upscale club on the outskirts of Star City. With a conflicted heart, she invited Zhang Qiyang and Li Xuan to dine together for the first time.

She had no idea what might happen if these two met in private, and she was anxious about the consequences. She knew full well that Li Xuan was extremely averse to Zhang Qiyang. But as the young master of the Dongfang Group, Zhang had extended an olive branch, seeking to ease tensions—and under these circumstances, Li Xuan simply couldn’t refuse the invitation.

Chen Ke wasn’t especially worried about Li Xuan, who possessed considerable emotional intelligence. No matter how over-the-top Zhang Qiyang might behave, she was confident Li Xuan could handle it gracefully.

Her worry lay with Zhang Qiyang himself. He claimed to want reconciliation, but would this young master do something foolish that would only worsen their already awkward relationship?

Arranging this dinner the night before the competition, Chen Ke truly had no choice.

What she could never have anticipated, however, was that before the meal had even begun, Zhang Qiyang and Li Xuan had already caused a shocking “major incident”!