Frivolous - Chapter 12

Chapter 12

“How exactly have I been ‘good’ to you?”

“You guided me on my songs, had Teacher Yang release our album, treated me to dinner, and then let me treat you back.” She was Yu Lanzhou, after all a legendary name on the wealth charts, someone most people would find difficult to even catch a glimpse of.

Yu Lanzhou’s gaze remained soft as she watched her, her expression earnest as she said, “Because of pity.”

Yu Lanzhou was telling the truth; she simply didn’t want to see Chen Ran living a miserable life because of her.

Those three words were like falling embers, searing a bloody hole into Chen Ran’s heart.

Chen Ran’s nails dug deep into her palms, leaving crimson marks.

So that’s it.

“I was afraid you’d faint on stage.” Yu Lanzhou instinctively looked at Chen Ran’s hair again—it had been dyed black once more, no longer the sickly yellow of malnutrition.

Chen Ran caught Yu Lanzhou’s gaze again.

Those eyes, usually so cold, seemed filled with warmth at this moment.

She saw it clearly now: it was exactly the “pity” Yu Lanzhou had spoken of.

But Chen Ran wanted it to be love. She only wanted it to be love.

Even if she had to use such means to get close to Yu Lanzhou in the beginning, could she be a little greedy? Could it be something other than guilt or pity?

“How do you still remember that? I’ll take good care of myself; I won’t faint,” Chen Ran teased, her words sounding apologetic but carrying a spoiled, coquettish tone.

Chen Ran took another step closer to her.

Yu Lanzhou realized that since joining the show, Chen Ran had become much more cheerful and talkative.

Or perhaps, this had always been her true colors.

The car stopped downstairs at the Fengjin dormitory.

Before getting out, Chen Ran handed over a beautifully packaged necklace box, her gaze intense. “A birthday present.”

Yu Lanzhou looked at her with doubt.

Chen Ran quickly explained: “I know it’s on the 16th, but I’ll be recording in Haisheng that day, so I wanted to give it to you early.” Despite the age gap, she felt no distance between them at all, speaking to her as if they were peers.

Yu Lanzhou reached out to take it. Her fingers brushed against Chen Ran’s, and then, without any outward emotion, she said a simple “Thank you.”

She knew that tonight’s interactions had crossed a line—beyond status, and beyond the normal boundaries of interacting with her daughter’s friend.

Her next question also crossed the line: “Is there anything you want?”

Chen Ran pretended to think for a moment, then said, “Isn’t there that thing? The ‘Meteor Shower’ Maybach headlights? Can I see them?”

She was habitually good at acting vulnerable and coquettish.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched the corners of Yu Lanzhou’s mouth. “Not every car has those.”

“Does this car have them?”

“Yes.”

Flexed on.

Chen Ran thought to herself that since she was so rich, there was no way she wouldn’t have chosen the top-tier configuration.

Yu Lanzhou tapped the steering wheel with her index finger, asking with a hint of amusement, “Do you really want to see? It’s a bit childish.”

“Yes! I do.” Chen Ran’s tone was like a little girl’s. She had seen the “Meteor Rain” light carpet projected onto the ground once before, and she wanted to see that meteor shower again.

Yu Lanzhou turned on the high beams.

In an instant, clusters of flowing white light beams surged across the empty ground like falling stars.

Chen Ran watched, entranced, as moonlight floated across her profile.

Yu Lanzhou looked over:

The lines were smooth her forehead, her nose, her mouth everything was perfectly formed.

In the moonlight, her side profile approached the pinnacle of beauty. The perfume she was wearing was Libre, the same scent Yu Lanzhou used to wear.

To Chen Ran, this scent full of sexiness and cold glamour didn’t quite match her temperament yet.

But it reached Yu Lanzhou.

In a sudden moment, Yu Lanzhou spoke, pressing into Chen Ran’s desires: “Chen Ran, what is your purpose?”

This time, Chen Ran did not retreat. If she backed down now, who knew when the next opportunity like this would come?

Her eyelashes fluttered slightly. She unbuckled her seatbelt, sat up straight, and said solemnly, “To miss you, and to love you.”

It was somewhat reckless and lacked a sense of propriety, but she had long since stopped taking the warnings of Yu Lanzhou and Yu Zhou to heart.

She had thought it through clearly in prison, rehearsing her emotions countless times, concluding that she must follow her heart.

The night was very peaceful. Yu Lanzhou did not respond to this “straight ball” attack.

She just watched Chen Ran quietly, observing this young, vivid, and spirited “little horse.”

But tonight, both she and Chen Ran tacitly and by unspoken agreement deliberately chose to ignore Yu Zhou.

Since the announcement of the recording for the fourth episode of Live Rock Sound, the remaining eight bands had to prepare and complete a full performance within ten days. The venue was provided by the director’s team, but the bands decided the number of songs and the duration themselves.

Songs were chosen from a range provided by the show, including hits from famous singers and classic tracks from rock legends.

Tickets were priced at 240 yuan lower than the regular price for an established band’s live house show, but higher than those for less experienced or less popular bands.

A minimum of 200 ticket-holding audience members was required to start the performance, with a cap of 600.

Finally, the audience would rate their experience, and an average score would be calculated.

Two bands would be eliminated this round.

This format was extremely advantageous for bands that performed often, especially the two or three veteran rock bands in the third season who had the “look” of champions.

The hits from famous singers were usually very rhythmic and catchy—the kind where a whole plaza of people could sing along or dance. Choosing these songs often led to a more immersive experience for the audience and potentially higher scores.

However, if a band’s vocal ability was poor, the audience would compare them to the original singer, and the result would be counterproductive.

Rock fans often had a “disdain” for pop tracks, especially if they spent money on a poor performance; they wouldn’t hesitate to criticize.

In the past, teams with poor vocals or stage presence would rehearse frantically for the first three days and perform on the fourth. The longer you waited, the more likely you were to clash with a big-name band, which meant you’d likely “die” faster by comparison—not to mention you might not even meet the minimum audience requirement.

The members of Ode Band gathered to discuss. Chen Ran’s vocal ability was above average among these bands. As long as there were no major mishaps, given their usual street performances and their growing fan base, reaching 200 audience members shouldn’t be difficult.

They needed to focus on their own performance, which required more time.

They decided to perform on the eighth day, September 6th.

Chen Ran drafted a setlist with only one major pop hit, skipping songs from other rock legends. The setlist totaled 20 songs.

Everything was in full swing. Chen Ran was so busy she had no time for anything else, fighting side-by-side with her teammates every day.

As they had predicted, five bands completed their performances within the first week, though the scores had not yet been announced. The other two bands were scheduled for the final weekend.

September in Haisheng was still sweltering. The day of Ode Band’s performance on the 6th happened to be a Friday.

Although Chen Ran knew that Ode’s tickets had reached the 600-person limit on the first day, she felt a sense of unreality as she watched the long line forming in front of the live house from backstage.

So, people really did come just for them.

Outside the lobby, people had even sent flower baskets with foam board signs—orange tulips, Chen Ran’s favorite.

They lined the long, narrow corridor in a row.

They must be from fans.

Chen Ran’s heart surged; she really wanted to go and see what was written on them.

So, an hour before the show started, Chen Ran put on her hat and rushed out to look.

Every card was filled with blessings from fans for Chen Ran and Ode:

• Congratulations to our singer on a smooth first performance!

• Wishing lead singer Chen Ran a perfectly successful debut!

• Wishing Ode Band huge success, may you tour everywhere!

• An and Ran, walk this path together all the way.

Most of the signatures were from the fan club Chen Ran had built in such a short time.

There was also one bouquet with no information, just orange double-petaled sunflowers: My singer, have a smooth performance.

Chen Ran gently brushed her hand over the cards, feeling like she might cry.

Before she left, a staff member brought in another flower basket. Unlike the previous ones, these were blue hydrangeas.

Again, there was no message, just a bare signature: Y.

Ahhhhhhhhh. Chen Ran screamed the words in her mind.

Is it really Yu Lanzhou?

Whether it was or not, she would treat it as if it were Yu Lanzhou.

She loved her so much.

She pulled out her phone and took a flurry of photos of the sea of flowers in the corridor, then took selfies with them.

The performance that night was incredible.

Chen Ran exhausted all her strength on stage.

When she sang “Long Memory of Wind and Flowers,” the audience listened in silence; when she sang “Mama,” people below shed tears; when she sang “Aria of Mockery,” the whole venue sang along, and the emotion reached its peak.

After the final note, amidst the shifting lights, Chen Ran tossed her guitar pick into the audience.

I hope my music reaches your hearts.

Chen Ran bowed deeply. “Thank you all for coming tonight.”

She then hugged her bandmates, bowed again, and moved on to the group photo session.

With the place packed, she wondered if the camera could capture every single audience member.

As the music faded, the members walked out. Many people who hadn’t managed to get tickets were still standing outside.

“Am I going to be famous?” Shi Muyang rubbed his nose, startled by the turnout.

“Are you blind?” Chou Fang nudged him. “Didn’t you see they’re all wearing or carrying orange support colors?”

Chen Ran looked out. Aside from a small portion of blue belonging to Su Ping’an, the vast majority were orange. Her color.

Shi Muyang scanned the crowd and finally spotted someone nearby, pointing at her: “Hey, that one isn’t wearing orange or blue.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the person reached out and handed a letter to Chen Ran.

And so, in the show’s footage, Chen Ran—dressed in an orange tank top, black suspenders, and pleated loose black trousers—walked out into the crowd and accepted one letter after another.

After the performance, Chen Ran returned to the hotel provided by the crew.

After showering, she lay on her bed with her feet up, carefully pondering the text message she was about to send to Yu Lanzhou.

After their last meeting, Chen Ran had asked for her phone number. Yu Lanzhou had hesitated for over ten seconds before giving it to her.

Teacher Yu, 600 people actually came to see our band perform!

An hour later, she got a reply: Is that a lot?

It’s not… it’s not… it’s not that many. Chen Ran clicked her tongue, pressing it against the roof of her mouth.

The gap between her and Yu Lanzhou was so huge.

In fact, many established rock bands didn’t necessarily have that kind of drawing power.

I just feel very lucky. To have my dream reach this step… it feels like everything can come true.

Yu Lanzhou didn’t reply again.

At that moment, Yu Lanzhou was scrolling through real-time comments on Weibo, realizing she understood internet slang less and less. She wasn’t sure if it was because of Yu Zhou, but she truly felt a generational gap with young people. She couldn’t understand what the phrase “Chen Ran chao wo” (Chen Ran ‘surpasses’ me) meant.

She had seen the last two characters appear alongside her own name on the Yu Lan account before. She hadn’t cared back then, but now she felt a desire to know.

So she asked Xu Wan, who was driving, “What does ‘chao wo’ mean? ‘Chao’ as in ‘surpass,’ and ‘wo’ as in ‘me.’ Is it ‘transcendence’?”

Xu Wan looked like she wanted to die. She hesitated, looking like she was about to just give up and explain. “It’s, well…”

But in the end, she couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Yu Lanzhou stared at her shy expression. She mouthed the two characters to herself silently, blinked, and then realized.

(Note: In Chinese internet slang, “chao” is a homophone for “f***,” so the phrase implies “Chen Ran f***s me.”)

The other phrases like “cha wo” (check/f*** me) or “kou wo” (button/finger me) suddenly made sense too.

I see.

Young girls these days speak quite boldly.

I see.

Yu Lanzhou cleared her search history and tilted her head back slightly to relieve the pressure on her neck.

After the fourth episode aired, Ode Band’s score ranked second among the eight bands, and the fan support seemed overwhelming.

Some “righteous” individuals couldn’t sit still. Liang Liang, the lead singer of Lingfu Band who they had clashed with previously began to taunt Chen Ran to her face: “Who even bothers with ‘fandom colors’ in singing? I don’t know if some people are in the rock scene or the idol scene.”

Chen Ran smiled slightly. She took off her mic, leaned in close to Liang Liang, and used a cushion to hide her mouth as she whispered: “It’s a scene you can’t get into.”

Then she sat back and checked her phone. She was on the trending charts again. What was it this time?

Chen Ran Fans was number two on the entertainment trending chart.

Chen Ran clicked in and found the reason: in the offline group photos, Chen Ran’s fans were all wearing orange.

Every one of them was dressed like a celebrity. A single glance showed a sea of incredibly beautiful female fans.

Wow.

After Yu Lanzhou’s second performance in Beijing ended, she exited the stage alongside the newly appointed concertmaster violinist.

In a passing moment, she accidentally caught a glimpse of the violinist’s phone wallpaper. Surprisingly, it featured familiar people. Two of them. And their body language looked a bit intimate.

Yu Lanzhou raised an eyebrow and asked the concertmaster: “Who is on your wallpaper?”

The concertmaster lowered her head, her face turning red. “Conductor Yu, it’s the lead singer and keyboardist of Ode Band. They’re from Fengjin.”

Yu Lanzhou felt a momentary dizziness.

Xu Wan had already noticed Yu Lanzhou’s poor complexion while she was on stage.

She quickly ran over and reached out to support her.

Yu Lanzhou didn’t take her hand. “I’m fine, no need to hold me.”

She then followed up with a question for Xu Wan: “How did her band suddenly become so popular?”

“The CP (couple pairing) took off.”

“Which CP?”

“Chen Ran and Su Ping’an.”

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