Chapter Sixty-Two: Could It Possibly Turn the Tide?

"What did you say?" The manager stared at Ye Yuanhang’s reaction in utter astonishment.

But soon after, he chuckled. "Are you feeling discouraged because Cheng Yun’s new song 'Silken Window' is too strong? I’ve heard it, and yes, it’s impressive. But you really don’t have to be overly anxious. You have more fame and a higher profile than Cheng Yun. Besides, your new song is getting just as much buzz as 'Silken Window,' so your spot at number one is untouchable!"

"Untouchable?" Ye Yuanhang’s laughter was tinged with bitterness. "Heh… heh…"

At that moment, he found himself resenting his own name.

Because!

A line inexplicably surfaced in his mind: Goodbye, Mother. Tonight, I must set sail.

Was he losing his mind?

Had he gone mad?

The manager watched Ye Yuanhang, who seemed like a different person, and frowned. He reached for the headphones on the table and put them on.

"Holy—!"

The very next second, he sprang to his feet.

Who was knocking at the window of his heart?!

He hastily jammed the headphones back in, eyes darting to the lyrics on the computer screen.

The more he read, the more shocked he felt.

The more he listened, the more his heart trembled.

A few minutes later, he removed the headphones and looked at Ye Yuanhang, who still sat there, utterly absent-minded. At last, he understood why Ye Yuanhang had reacted so strongly.

"Is this 'Wuyan' even human?" the manager muttered after a long silence.

Ye Yuanhang gritted his teeth. "He’s a monster!"

Damn it, how could someone write a documentary theme song like this?

How was it even possible? Why?

He simply couldn’t comprehend it.

The manager’s expression changed several times before he finally said, "It’s already late October. I don’t believe this song can topple you in just half a month. Besides, we’re still working in collaboration with Dawnlight. Can this song really crush the combined efforts of both our company’s top artists?"

Ye Yuanhang rolled his eyes. "If it were anyone else—no matter how big a star—releasing a song now, I’d be confident in keeping my number one spot. But Wuyan is just… uncanny. I’m worried that in a few days, the other artists on the charts will mysteriously unite again to help 'Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth' climb the rankings."

"Uh…" The manager fell silent, recalling the painful experience of September.

"So what do we do?" he asked.

"The best course," Ye Yuanhang said, "is to temporarily stop promoting my song and surrender first place to Cheng Yun."

"Isn’t that a bit much?"

"Not at all. I don’t want to be number one anyway. I already went through the agony of dropping from first to second last month. I don’t want to experience that pain again."

The manager was puzzled. "But wouldn’t being second be just as painful?"

"You don’t get it," Ye Yuanhang said earnestly. "Do you know why the other artists joined forces last month?"

"Why?"

"Because misery loves company! If you’re going down, you drag the one ahead of you down with you—then it doesn’t hurt as much."

The manager was speechless.

What twisted logic.

He could hardly process it.

Ye Yuanhang continued, "Back then, I was in first place, so I couldn’t drag anyone else down—I had to bear the pain alone. But if I’m second, I can pull Cheng Yun down with me, let him share my suffering. If I push a bit harder, I might even overtake him again and make him feel double the pain, while I’ll get double the pleasure… hahaha—"

As he spoke, Ye Yuanhang actually grew happier.

In front of Wuyan, he felt unsteady; last time, he’d been left with a psychological scar.

Once bitten by a snake, you’ll fear even ropes for ten years.

But against Cheng Yun, he felt no fear at all.

Even if he let Cheng Yun surpass him, Ye Yuanhang was still absolutely confident he could overturn the gap at any moment.

"It’s settled, then!" Ye Yuanhang declared.

He was giving up the top spot!

…

Ye Yuanhang was just one of many paying close attention to "Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth."

After the official announcement from "The Forbidden City," the news swept through the industry almost instantly.

"Wuyan’s third song has dropped."

"Even without listening, I’m sure it’ll flop."

"Ha, releasing in late October? Forget about topping the charts—they’ve given up on streaming traffic altogether."

"Does it even have what it takes to chart?"

"Official songs are good, sure, but they’re just not to the taste of us ordinary folks."

"Let’s take a look and see what kind of song it is."

"A documentary theme? How good can it really be?"

"I bet it’s not my thing."

"Exactly. Even without hearing it, I can picture the style: uplifting, official, ethnic, grand… the only thing it won’t be is pop."

"…"

Most people discussing "Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth" didn’t even notice the performer was Fu Zhuang; all their attention was on Wuyan.

In a sense, for a composer to command such attention was already a major breakthrough.

Yet no one seemed to realize it.

There were those who paid it no mind.

Some couldn’t be bothered to listen.

But many, out of curiosity, clicked on "Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth" the moment it was released.

And then…

After a short while, those still actively discussing the song noticed something had changed.

"What’s going on? Why is everyone silent?"

"Hey, where’s the guy who said Wuyan’s song would flop?"

"Say something, will you?"

"Come on, speak up."

"This is weird."

"…"

Gradually, chat groups and discussion forums alike fell into an uncanny silence.

At last, someone spoke: "Um… is a composer really that important?"

A long pause, then another replied, "Maybe."

If this exchange had happened half an hour earlier, it would have sparked a torrent of ridicule.

But now—no one refuted it.

Time passed before someone exclaimed, "My god, that was fast! It’s been less than an hour since the release, and 'Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth' has already broken 100,000 streams on CloudNet!"

In under an hour, the play count had topped 100,000.

And this was with only a single official announcement from "The Forbidden City," with no other promotion or marketing.

The news sent another wave of shock through the listeners.

"This is the sign of a song taking off…"

A sigh, tinged with complicated feelings.

They had to admit that Wuyan’s third song was nothing like they’d imagined—it was a tour de force, combining positivity, grandeur, patriotism, and pop sensibility in equal measure.

They could only bow to such a work.

…

At the same time.

Cheng Yun, a top artist at Dawnlight Entertainment, had also finished listening to "Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth."

His expression was equally complex. "Wuyan is a genius. If he’d write a few songs of this caliber for me, I’d have a shot at becoming a superstar within a year or two."

He was still sighing when his manager burst in. "Cheng Yun, stop listening to 'Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth.' Great news: for reasons I don’t know, all the promotion for Ye Yuanhang’s song has been pulled. Your new song was neck and neck with his; now that his isn’t being promoted, doesn’t that mean you’re practically guaranteed the top spot on the new song chart?"

"Really?" Cheng Yun jumped up, face alight with joy.

"Of course," the manager said. "I’ve already asked the company to ramp up promotion for your new track. At this rate, 'Silken Window' will be number one in no time."

And indeed—

Within just half an hour, to the amazement of onlookers, "Silken Window" overtook "Return of the Gentle Rain" and claimed the top spot.

First place, won effortlessly.

Cheng Yun laughed heartily. "Ye Yuanhang must be out of his mind! Giving up first place and handing me the crown for free. But now that I’ve got it, I won’t be letting it go so easily."

At that moment, Cheng Yun had already put Wuyan and "Dragon Scales of Heaven and Earth" out of his mind.

It might be a great song, but so what?

It was already late October—could it possibly stage a comeback in just ten days?

Impossible!