Chapter Thirty-Two: As Our Parents Wish, As Our Nation Desires, As a Flourishing Era Longs

You are a distant road,
A lamp in the mountain fog.
I am a child walking within your gaze.
You are the bright moon and clear breeze,
I am the dream you shelter.
Whether we meet or not, all my life I embrace you.

Chen Fang’s voice could never achieve an ethereal quality; he could only do his best to imitate with falsetto, and though the effect lacked some flavor, at least the clarity was there.

His singing was gentle and light.

In an instant, the recording studio became utterly silent.

A masterpiece!

Another masterpiece!

An Tinghan immediately recognized the quality of the song—far surpassing any track from her previous albums. She could tell that Chen Fang was deliberately using falsetto to mimic her original tone, so she might imagine how it would sound in her own voice.

The other three people were stunned.

In just one day!

Chen Fang had produced yet another masterpiece.

Xi Yuanyuan felt a tingling on her scalp. What kind of treasure had she unearthed?

Tong Qin’s eyes were wide with shock. When she looked at Chen Fang now, it was no longer with the appreciative gaze reserved for young talent; instead, it brimmed with respect and awe.

It was unbelievable.

In Chen Fang’s hands, masterpieces seemed to flow as effortlessly as breathing.

An Tinghan couldn’t help but lick her red lips, desire shining unmistakably in her eyes.

“Is this song… about family?” she wondered.

Though the lyrics so far revealed little, one word stood out: “child.”

She was growing restless. She had never sung a song about family before, and now she wanted nothing more than to pull Chen Fang down from the piano and sing it herself.

And I will love what you have loved in this world,
Wish for the smiles you have wished for,
Clumsily holding your hand in mine,
Please take me to tomorrow.
If you once tasted bitterness for my sweetness,
I wish to live as your wish,
Wishing never in vain, wishing always to strive,
Cherishing every day of this prosperous era.

The piano rose, the emotion building.

This verse was really the chorus of the first part. As the emotion swelled, Chen Fang raised his volume a little. There was no need now to emphasize that ethereal clarity; a touch of weight could be added.

Gentle, yet powerful.

In this moment, all three listeners felt the song’s depth.

Our parents’ generation—in those years unknown to us, they performed deeds both ordinary and magnificent. Their stories cannot be sung, one by one, but as long as we remember those times, we are inspired by their enduring strength.

To express such emotion in song is difficult.

Chen Fang knew he could not do it perfectly.

Of course,

Perhaps An Tinghan could not, either.

When Faye Wong sang this song, countless listeners said, “She sang the best song at the perfect age.”

At twenty, Faye Wong’s voice was metallic.

At thirty, it was calm.

At forty, it became ethereal and weathered.

What this song lacks most is ethereality, but that alone is not enough.

Without years of experience, you cannot sing the feeling of life’s vicissitudes.

This, Chen Fang thought, was something An Tinghan, only in her twenties, could not yet grasp.

His singing was not sorrowful.

In fact, he let the emotion soar in the chorus.

But somehow,

It nonetheless evoked a heavy, oppressive sense of history, compressing the listener’s emotions to the limit, waiting for the moment of release.

At that instant,

Chen Fang stopped his fingers.

The piano fell abruptly silent.

For a moment, the other three sat speechless.

“Go on!”

“Hurry, keep going!” An Tinghan urged.

Chen Fang looked at her. As a man who knew better than anyone how to toy with a woman’s emotions, he could tell—An Tinghan had taken the bait.

“I’ve only written up to this point,” he replied softly.

Xi Yuanyuan: What?

Tong Qin: What?

An Tinghan: What?!

Are you kidding me?

The lyrics and melody are both so complete, and now you tell me you’ve only written half?

An Tinghan gritted her teeth, glaring at him with such fury it seemed she might bite him right there.

Tong Qin was amazed. Not only was Chen Fang gifted at songwriting, he was also a natural at business.

Truth be told, with just this unfinished performance, both An Tinghan and Tong Qin were thoroughly hooked.

“Let’s talk about collaborating,” Tong Qin said with a smile.

No matter what terms Chen Fang set today, she would consider agreeing. The value of this song was immense.

To exaggerate only slightly, even if An Tinghan didn’t sing it, any female singer with a similar voice could make it a hit.

And it was all thanks to this one song.

All thanks to Chen Fang alone.

He glanced at Xi Yuanyuan beside him and smiled. “You’ll have to discuss it with my manager—I only write songs, I’m not familiar with business matters.”

Nonsense!

Chen Fang knew perfectly well how to do business.

He simply wanted to give Xi Yuanyuan a chance to shine.

Tong Qin turned to Xi Yuanyuan. “Ms. Xi, please ask the chairman of Future Stardom to come. This is an important matter; we should discuss it carefully.”

Xi Yuanyuan snapped out of her daze and replied dumbly, “I’ll go get him now.”

Before she left, she gave Chen Fang a complicated look—admiration, gratitude, and perhaps… affection.

Soon after,

General Manager Qian hurried to the studio.

Learning that Tong Qin and An Tinghan were both present, all of Future Stardom’s executives squeezed into the small recording room, more than a dozen people in all.

“Ms. An, Ms. Tong, I am Qian Youlai, chairman of Future Stardom,” he said, beaming as he shook hands and began discussing the collaboration.

Chen Fang paid them no mind.

Back on Earth, every time he socialized, it was for business.

He’d never liked it, but to make money—he had no choice.

Now things were different. He was no longer a company boss, but an artist. He wanted a more relaxed life; with Future Stardom and Xi Yuanyuan handling negotiations, he could leave them to it.

He sat at the piano and closed his eyes to rest.

Suddenly,

A waft of delicate fragrance drifted by.

He opened his eyes to see a round, delicate face before him—An Tinghan, her features soft and slightly plump.

She pressed eagerly, “Have you finished writing this song? What’s it called?”

“‘As Wished,’” he replied.

“As wished by our parents, as wished by the nation, as wished by this flourishing era.”

He gave a gentle explanation.

For a moment, An Tinghan was stunned.

The depth of this song was astonishing.

She was merely a queen of love songs—could she handle a work of such profound meaning?

Chen Fang continued, “Miss An, when I wrote this piece, I consulted many old materials. I hope, when you sing it, you can capture the weariness of time—not just showcase your voice.”

“Though I wrote this song for you, every song is like my child. I hope the singer can reveal its most perfect self.”

Other things could be joked about.

But not this.

Chen Fang would never joke about something like this.

On hearing this, An Tinghan’s expression grew solemn. “I understand,” she said.

Chen Fang smiled in satisfaction. She was taken aback for a moment—he really was handsome. Up close, she could even catch the faint scent of laundry soap on him.

A little cough broke her reverie.

Beside her, Xi Yuanyuan shot a wary look her way, as if An Tinghan were about to steal something precious from her.