Perfect Divorce [Entertainment Circle] - Chapter 28

When Yuan Cheng had taken out his guitar, Yuan Xingzhou had initially decided not to perform at all. But now, he had changed his mind.

“Wait for me a moment.” Yuan Xingzhou nodded and gave everyone an apologetic smile before turning to run back and fetch his guitar.

The lights in Building C hadn’t been turned on yet. Yuan Xingzhou ran inside in the dark, rushing up the stairs in a single breath. The moment he reached the door, he realized that the hand holding his key card was trembling slightly.

With no cameras behind him, he couldn’t help but stop and take a deep breath.

Perhaps he was under some sort of spell tonight. He, who usually cared most about others’ opinions and feared a public spat with Yuan Cheng more than anything, actually wanted to face him head-on.

It wasn’t that he had no misgivings. Back when Huo Yangqing had egged him on to personally enter the fray, Yuan Xingzhou had realized that to him, Yuan Cheng was like an inescapable and unbeatable nightmare. Most of the time, his instinct was to avoid direct confrontation so as not to draw the other’s attention.

But tonight, perhaps it was Yuan Cheng’s brazenness that had provoked him, or perhaps it was Ye Huai’s encouragement… He suddenly really wanted to give it a try.

Inside the room, the beautiful guitar waited quietly in the corner. Moonlight spilled in through the window, wrapping that small space in a layer of silver light like crushed silver—it felt both real and like a dream.

Yuan Xingzhou lightened his steps, took out the guitar, and strove to banish the stray thoughts from his mind, calming himself down to tune the instrument.

Five minutes later, Yuan Xingzhou came running back with the guitar on his back.

“Xingzhou!” Li Yi called out excitedly when she saw him return. “Can you record two more episodes? I’ll leave if you can stay!”

Yuan Xingzhou looked at her, bewildered, before noticing a sweet, fresh fragrance wafting through the air.

Yin Fei explained with a smile, “While you were getting your guitar, Brother Huai made us Bananas Foster.”

“It was so delicious!” Ai Chi laughed and licked his fingers. “I don’t even want to leave anymore. Do you two need a pet? The kind that doesn’t need to be walked?”

“Scram!” Ye Huai cursed with a laugh, then stood up and cleared his throat.

“Now, please welcome…” Ye Huai said with mock solemnity, “the renowned singer and young actor, Mr. Yuan Xingzhou, who will perform for us…”

Yuan Xingzhou: “…”

Ye Huai raised an eyebrow at him.

“Secret Base,” Yuan Xingzhou said with a smile.

“Right.” Ye Huai nodded and repeated, “Secret Base.”

“A sing-along?” Ma Yin’s partner, the man surnamed Pan, suddenly spoke up and asked.

“No.” Yuan Xingzhou shook his head. “Fingerstyle.”

Regardless of whether they understood it or not, everyone who had just finished their dessert applauded vigorously.

The campfire crackled occasionally. Everyone had yet to recover from their earlier excitement; some were laughing and looking around, while others had their heads down looking at their phones. In the distance, the production staff were whispering among themselves, discussing something.

Ye Huai was a bit nervous and turned to look at Yuan Xingzhou. He didn’t know if Yuan Xingzhou could still pull it off after not touching a guitar for so long.

However, the moment Yuan Xingzhou sat down with the guitar and quietly plucked the first note, Ye Huai knew—he had succeeded.

There was a moment of silence in the field. The most obvious reaction came from the production crew in the distance; they stood up in unison and peered over. Several cameramen couldn’t even help but lean away from their machines, staring at Yuan Xingzhou in astonishment.

The expressions of the guests also shifted slightly as their smiles gradually faded.

Yuan Xingzhou wasn’t surprised by this. Secret Base was the ending theme for Anohana: The Flower We Saw That Day. The song was gentle and soft, yet it told a sorrowful story. As a popular classic in the Japanese music scene, its emotional infectiousness was almost lethal; the intro was a “guaranteed kill.”

This was also the masterpiece that had led Yuan Xingzhou into the world of fingerstyle. Back then, he hadn’t even learned to sing while playing; instead, he spent every day studying fingerstyle. Later, he studied music theory and spent years trying out various arrangements.

The final version was a flash of inspiration he’d had before losing “Old Ma”—the impulse of a youth chasing dreams, the hardships of being battered by life, the sorrow of every loss… Years later, as Yuan Xingzhou played it again, he couldn’t help but be moved.

The exquisite harmonics were like scattered stars in the night sky, piercing through the ears and into everyone’s hearts. And every time Yuan Xingzhou executed a crisp, clean string slap, it was like he was wielding a blunt instrument, heavily striking the softest parts of everyone’s hearts.

The campfire burned low. Until the last echoes died away, only the faint sound of insects and the wind could be heard in the field.

Everyone had yet to snap out of it. When Yuan Xingzhou looked up, he realized his own eyes were moist.

Ye Huai had been watching him the whole time. Yuan Xingzhou instinctively turned back and saw Ye Huai open his mouth to speak, but a sudden burst of applause erupted from the distance.

The production crew was the first to cause a commotion. Several of the older staff members actually ran toward Yuan Xingzhou with tears in their eyes. Soon after, the guests also snapped out of it and applauded forcefully.

Yuan Xingzhou smiled and hugged the staff members who came over. Everyone was too moved to speak, seemingly not knowing what to say. But Yuan Xingzhou knew—this was the kind of emotion reserved for “old-school ACG fans.” Perhaps everyone had their own stories, but tonight, they shared the same touch of sentiment.

“Thank you, everyone,” Yuan Xingzhou bowed in gratitude amidst the enduring applause and added, “This is the song from Anohana, though I’m sure many of you already know it.”

“It was beautiful.” Pan Yunhai suddenly spoke up and asked him, “Is this your own arrangement?”

“Yes.” Yuan Xingzhou nodded and gave an embarrassed smile. “My level is limited; there’s a version by a Great God online that sounds even better.”

“Each has its own merits. You’re too modest.” Pan Yunhai asked, “Have you ever composed your own music?”

Yuan Xingzhou glanced at Yuan Cheng. “I used to. Many were improvisations that were never written into complete songs.”

Yuan Cheng’s expression darkened slightly, and he pursed his lips while staring at him.

“We want to hear one!” Yin Fei was completely unaware of the undercurrents here. She raised her arms and cheered, “Encore! Encore!”

Li Yi and Sun Kai also joined in, shouting together, “Encore!”

Everyone’s emotions were at an unprecedented high. Yuan Xingzhou smiled and was about to speak when he heard Yuan Cheng say, “It’s nine o’clock. Shouldn’t we rest?”

After saying this, Yuan Cheng looked at everyone and interrupted, “Let Xingzhou sing again another time. If we keep making noise like this, we’ll disturb the neighbors.”

Yuan Xingzhou and Ye Huai exchanged a look.

However, the director also seemed to have sensed something. He came over and followed up with advice: “Let’s call it a night for now, everyone. It’s late, we have enough footage, and everyone has to head back tomorrow.”

Holding his guitar, Yuan Xingzhou looked quietly at Yuan Cheng across the campfire.

The guests were starting to hesitate after being persuaded, but the cameramen from the production crew didn’t pull back.

“In that case,” Yuan Xingzhou suddenly spoke up, addressing the group, “I’ll play a segment of an original composition as a ‘goodnight song’ for everyone.”

As soon as he finished, he removed the capo and lightly swept his fingers across the guitar strings.

The moment the sound rang out, everyone’s expressions changed.

It was a melody almost identical to the intro of Yuan Cheng’s song, yet the feeling the two of them produced was completely different.

Yuan Cheng’s was a traditional playing style with a clear sense of progression, a steady rhythm, and a simple tune—like a street boy singing a folk song about Chengdu or Beijing.

But Yuan Xingzhou’s chords were complex, and the rhythm was more “swing,” giving it a sense of elegant freedom, like swaying jazz in a bar.

Yuan Xingzhou improvised a small segment at the end of the original melody and then abruptly stopped the sound.

Pan Yunhai’s eyes showed shock. He looked at the pale-faced Yuan Cheng and then back at Yuan Xingzhou. “Fingerstyle jazz? It would have been great if you could have played it on a hollow-body jazz guitar. You actually know how to do this too?”

“I’ve only just started,” Yuan Xingzhou said calmly. “This was a piece I improvised when I first started learning fingerstyle jazz. The rhythm wasn’t smooth enough; I didn’t expect it would be our shared fate tonight.”

Pan Yunhai: “…”

Everyone: “…”

Compared to Yuan Xingzhou’s performance, Yuan Cheng’s version was left with nothing—it was completely outclassed.

Everyone immediately understood why Ye Huai had insisted on having Yuan Xingzhou perform.

In fact, when Yuan Xingzhou had gone back to get his guitar, the guests had already been a bit impatient. They were leaving tomorrow and hadn’t packed their bags yet; who would want to stay out here in the cold feeding mosquitoes while listening to someone “play a fire poker” (bad guitar)?

But Ye Huai had taken the initiative to make dessert for everyone. In the serving dishes, the rum was ignited, and at the moment the flames shot up, everyone’s excitement was recharged to the maximum. Then Yuan Xingzhou returned and awed everyone with a gentle, sorrowful piece.

At that time, everyone thought Yin Fei was likely right—Yuan Xingzhou was clearly more skilled. But only now did everyone understand Yuan Xingzhou’s true intent.

With a dark face, the director directly shouted for the staff to collect the microphones.

“You’re very skilled,” Pan Yunhai said while taking off his mic. “The jazz style has very high requirements for playing technique and music theory. If you’ve been self-taught all along, then you’re a genius.”

“Thank you, you’re too kind.” Yuan Xingzhou smiled, then bowed solemnly to the production crew’s cameras and all the guests. “Thank you all for your support. Goodnight.”

The following morning, the guests left the filming location one after another.

Yuan Xingzhou and Ye Huai left the earliest, but this time they didn’t take the production crew’s car—Ye Huai had a driver come to pick them up, and the latter arrived in a Lincoln.

“No more suffering here.” The driver went up to carry the luggage for the two of them. Ye Huai wore sunglasses and said unhappily, “Go back and ask if the payment has cleared.”

Last night, after Yuan Xingzhou had finished bowing and thanking everyone, he discovered that Ye Huai’s face was as black as the bottom of a pot. When the staff went over to collect the mics, he had scared them off with a single look.

Fearing he would get into a conflict, Yuan Xingzhou hurriedly rushed over, grabbed his arm, and dragged him away from the scene.

On the other hand, that girl Yin Fei was incredibly excited; no one knew how many photos of their backs she had secretly taken.

“It was all my fault. If I had known, I would have just…” Yuan Xingzhou put the luggage away, but as soon as he got in the car, he was dumbfounded. What kind of luxury configuration for a domineering CEO is this! He had sat in plenty of nice cars over the past two years, but he was still dazzled by this setup. This wasn’t a land-based business class; even first class was probably only like this!

“Just what? Endured it? Endure, endure, endure—do you think you’re a Ninja Turtle!” Ye Huai grumpily connected his game console and turned on the presidential massage chair. Pointing at the world metaphorically, he said, “Doesn’t Yuan Cheng just have a powerful manager? Look at his own cowardly self.”

Yuan Cheng had changed to a new company after the group disbanded. His manager wasn’t very famous, but he had a wide network. Yuan Xingzhou thought he had gotten on the show by relying on Tan Yanke; he only found out last night that wasn’t entirely the case—his manager’s maneuvering had also played a part.

“You should have torn into him long ago.” Seeing his worried face, Ye Huai sighed helplessly and asked, “Let me ask you, do you know why they’re afraid of me?”

Yuan Xingzhou shook his head honestly. “I don’t know.”

Ye Huai snorted. “Actually, it’s nothing much. Before you came, the company arranged at least three ‘CPs’ for everyone. Then I disagreed, and the company didn’t dare do it anymore.”

Yuan Xingzhou was stunned. “Huh??”

“My contract isn’t like your ‘indentured servitude’ contracts.” Seeing his confusion, Ye Huai explained patiently, “I have some connections, after all. The damn company can take a cut, but if they want to exploit me, they have to see if my family agrees.”

Yuan Xingzhou knew Ye Huai’s contract was different from the rest of theirs, but he didn’t know Ye Huai was so “fearless.” But on second thought, it made sense; their family’s jewelry company looked for female stars for promotions last year, and countless companies were fighting tooth and nail for that.

“Back then, those guys had their own little schemes,” Ye Huai said. “So I just beat up whoever was causing trouble. I almost hammered the team leader’s head flat. After that, they all behaved. So you either stay far away from them or learn from me—beat them every time you see them until they’re afraid.”

Yuan Xingzhou: “!!!”

Ye Huai was very proud of his achievements, waiting for Yuan Xingzhou’s customary “rainbow farts” (extravagant flattery).

But Yuan Xingzhou’s attention was entirely on the part about “hammering the team leader’s head flat”…

“Then… then Brother Huai…” Yuan Xingzhou looked at Ye Huai and asked apprehensively, “When you returned to the country, did you ever think about hammering my head?”

Ye Huai: “…”

Yuan Xingzhou: “…”

The two looked at each other. Ye Huai was clearly stunned for a moment before he frowned.

“…I did!” Ye Huai said irritably. “In my heart, you’ve already been hammered to a pulp.”

Yuan Xingzhou: “…Oh.”

The atmosphere became strangely awkward. Yuan Xingzhou thought for a moment—was his question inappropriate?

Ye Huai turned to grab his controller and started playing games again.

Yuan Xingzhou stared at the screen, watching the male lead on the display run in aimless circles. Suddenly, a Hilichurl popped up ahead. Without a word, Ye Huai fired an explosive arrow, only to blow himself up in the process.

What a hot temper…

Yuan Xingzhou wanted to laugh at the sight. On second thought, Ye Huai was quite right—fighting back was sometimes much more satisfying than hiding. Just like last night, even if only a few people knew the truth, he still felt very refreshed.

The car ran smoothly on the road, the scenery outside flowing backward like water.

Yuan Xingzhou gradually relaxed. He thought that after Ye Huai returned, his own courage had grown and his luck had improved; now he was even thinking about “hammering” people… and the massage chair was truly comfortable…

Yuan Xingzhou’s thoughts wandered as he lay back and started looking at his phone. However, as soon as he logged in, he saw that his “alt account” homepage was being flooded with the words “Huai-Zhou.”

The bloggers Yuan Xingzhou followed on his alt account were quite varied—music, film reviews, fashion… all sorts. But today, many of them were actually discussing him and Ye Huai.

The music blogger called him a “hidden pearl in the sea,” the film reviewer said they were a “match made in heaven,” and the fashion one was more cold-blooded, saying with annoyance that “a toad has managed to eat swan meat”…

The show hadn’t even aired yet. Yuan Xingzhou clicked on it, bewildered. He didn’t see his name on the hot searches, but there was a public topic: “The CP I ship is the sweetest.”

He froze for two seconds, then clicked in suspiciously, only to find that the first Weibo post under this topic was actually from Yin Fei!

[Yin Fei]: “I’m dead, I’m dead!! Sisters, did you see the fireworks in the sky! That was me exploding! Woohoo, the CP I ship is the sweetest! Sweet enough to make me faint! Everyone remember to burn paper for me this year and next… Don’t ask who I am or what I experienced, I have so much ‘big sugar’ but I can’t say… hic…”

The top-rated comment below was a row of dog-head emojis.

“Little sister Yin Fei, we won’t ask who you are, we just want to know if you can secretly let us ‘see’ that big sugar?”

Yuan Xingzhou: “…”

At a glance, it was obvious Yin Fei had forgotten to switch accounts while shipping her CP. Yuan Xingzhou wanted to remind the girl, only to find he hadn’t even added Yin Fei on WeChat.

He hesitated about whether to switch back to his main account to send a private message, but looking at Yin Fei’s Weibo reposts, he instantly felt despair.

[Li Yi]: Working out together; I’m also a bit ‘full’ (stuffed with sweetness).

[Ai Chi]: I don’t understand your thoughts… but the food Great God Ye makes is truly delicious, I want to lick the plate.

[PYH (Pan Yunhai)]: Although the song Xingzhou played was a bit sorrowful, there’s absolutely no need to seek a short end (die). His later ‘goodnight song’ was excellent, very romantic. Others interpret love as a scream in heavy makeup; he writes ‘liking’ as a flower that hasn’t bloomed on a rainy night.