Chapter Fifty-Five: Teacher, I Am Wang Mo

On the video page, netizens poured in en masse.
Comments sprouted like bamboo shoots after a spring rain.
Ten, twenty, a hundred, five hundred...
In less than half an hour, the comment count on the video soared past a thousand, and the number of views kept climbing at a breakneck pace.
The online community was in an uproar.
The main reason was that the majority of “Third Generation Foxman’s” current followers were music enthusiasts, so nearly everyone could participate in the discussion.
“Third Generation Foxman, have you lost your mind?”
“Look at you—what on earth are you babbling about?”
“Holy hell! I’ve watched discussions all day about the ‘Forbidden City’ theme and Wuyan, but you, Third Generation Foxman, are the only one bold enough to say this.”
“If Wuyan saw your video, he’d have to call you an expert.”
“How did Third Generation Foxman suddenly become Wuyan’s lapdog?”
“I admit Wuyan is uniquely talented in composition, but your flattery is just too much.”
“Let’s state a fact: all those official program theme songs and interludes, as highly praised as they are, are just too ‘highbrow’—the general public never really embraces them.”
“...”
Almost no one agreed with Zhou Peng’s content.
But Zhou Peng didn’t care in the slightest, because he didn’t agree with it either.
He was just making things up.
What he wanted was attention.
And the result was just as he’d hoped: this video’s popularity had exploded again.
In just a few hours, the view count broke half a million, “Third Generation Foxman” gained another fifty thousand followers, and the video was even promoted to the front page of Bilibili, receiving a massive boost in traffic.
Zhou Peng felt he had discovered the secret to going viral.
And Wuyan—he was the key.
As long as he kept up this pace, he felt that reaching a million followers with his “Third Generation Foxman” account was no longer just a dream.
Exhilarating!
...
Wang Mo quickly learned that “Third Generation Foxman” had released another video about him.
He watched it through.
A satisfied smile appeared on his face. “This Third Generation Foxman really has an eye for things.”
It seemed he’d have to find time to meet this person.
After all, last time the guy had already made a video that brought composers into the public eye, and now he was praising him so enthusiastically.

Such a rare (and flattering) confidant was hard to come by.
Of course, at the moment, he didn’t have the energy to deal with this.
He simply made a mental note of “Third Generation Foxman’s” name.
Early the next morning,
Wang Mo, together with Yuan Xiong, Fu Zhuang, and a few staff members, boarded a plane to the capital.
The live broadcasts would have to be put on pause for a few days.
Wang Mo wasn’t worried; after all, the theme song business was the top priority.
As for the side mission of getting his streaming account past a million followers, when the time was right, maybe a couple of streams would do the trick.
For now, his focus was on heading to the capital.
This was Wang Mo’s first trip out since his “fall from grace.”
No bodyguards.
No entourage of assistants or makeup artists.
No hysterical fans waiting at the airport.
No paparazzi sneaking photos.
Wang Mo merely adjusted his makeup, hairstyle, and clothing a bit; he didn’t even wear a mask when disembarking, yet no one paid him any attention.
“So this is what it really means to be washed up.”
Yuan Xiong glanced around warily, found no one was watching them, and said this to Wang Mo.
Wang Mo replied, “Xiong-ge, you still have a way with words.”
Yuan Xiong: “Of course.”
Wang Mo: “Don’t say it again.”
Yuan Xiong: “...”
...
The capital.
The “Big Underpants” building remained as unique as ever, like a firefly in the dark—no matter how you looked at it, it was dazzling.
At two in the afternoon, Wang Mo and his group met with the production team of “The Forbidden City.”
Present were:
Chief Director of the documentary: Wu Yong.
Music Director: Luo Yun.
Copyright Consultant: Gao Feng.
And several elderly gentlemen, hair streaked with white.

As Wu Yong introduced, these elders were professors from top universities such as Tsinghua, Peking, and Renmin—each a master in Chinese history and classical literature.
Because the filming of “The Forbidden City” touched on so many aspects of history and culture, and to present the most authentic history of the palace, the professors were invited to serve as advisors.
Normally, a theme song wouldn’t warrant their attention, but after reading the lyrics of “Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth” yesterday, these authorities insisted on meeting the song’s creator.
When they saw Wang Mo,
None of them—including Wu Yong—showed any sign of recognition.
In fact, everyone was surprised to see how young Wang Mo was.
A Tsinghua professor looked Wang Mo up and down, his eyes full of praise. “Remarkable, truly remarkable. Heroes do emerge from youth. Wuyan, at such a young age, to write a song like ‘Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth’ with such grandeur—my respect.”
Another professor added, “I originally thought that someone who could pen lines like ‘the dragon’s blood stretches for thousands of miles’ and ‘the dragon’s blood flourishes into a forest’ must be over thirty, a seasoned man with rich experience. I never imagined you’d be so young. Of course, in our view, there are some places in the song where the choice of words isn’t quite precise. I suppose you did that intentionally for rhyme or fluency?”
“Mmm, yes.”
Wang Mo racked his brain, trying to figure out where his word choices had gone awry, while nodding earnestly.
Another laughed, “Old He, don’t judge Wuyan’s lyrics by your own standards. You’re a professor of literature at Tsinghua—how many people in China can write something that meets your approval? Let alone songs. In my view, the best part of this song is the Chinese spirit and the love for country it embodies.”
Old He nodded repeatedly. “Exactly! How many young people today possess such lofty ideals? Such patriotism? That’s what makes Wuyan’s ‘Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth’ so precious.
“Not long ago, I heard of some pop idol in the entertainment industry who didn’t even know who Yue Meng was—what a disgrace for us Chinese. Especially since my own granddaughter is a huge fan of his, it made my heart ache...
“Oh, right, I remember now, that idol’s name is Wang Mo.
“If it weren’t for my granddaughter harping on about him every day, I wouldn’t even remember the name.”
As Old He lamented, he looked at Wang Mo, his tone gentle:
“Wuyan is your stage name, isn’t it? May I ask your real name?”
“Ahem...”
Wang Mo glanced at Yuan Xiong beside him.
That guy nearly burst out laughing but managed to keep a straight face, clearly not planning to bail him out.
Wang Mo cursed him inwardly, then forced an awkward smile.
Old He noticed Wang Mo’s discomfort and asked in surprise, “Oh? Is it inconvenient for you to say? No matter, I won’t press.”
“It’s not that.”
Wang Mo’s expression was embarrassed as he cautiously said, “Sir... actually, I am that Wang Mo you just mentioned.”