From Apocalypse To Entertainment Circle (BL) Chapter 102: Sian Is In Pain

"Sian, sing for , please... please..."

"You idiot! Is this the ti to enjoy music? We barely survived today! Go clean your damn wounds, or you’ll die from infection before the monsters even get a chance!"

"Yes, yes, Sian, he’s right—to treat your wounds. But look, I’m fine, so... could you sing your new song for ?"

"You old scamr..."

"Go on, go on! We want to hear it too. Take your arguing sowhere else."

"Brother Sian, I brought the guitar with ..."

---

"Only silence as it’s ending..."

"Like we never had a chance..."

"Do you have to make feel like" music "There’s nothing left of ?"

Sian used to sing to escape his miserable life—to forget his troubles and pain. When he sang, his mind emptied, becoming serene and peaceful. It was a feeling he hadn’t rembered in ages, buried beneath struggle and bloodshed. That’s why he sang every day—not just for himself, but for his friends too, so they could forget the pain with him. Music brought him comfort.

But...

This was the second ti Sian sang and felt... suffocated. Yes—suffocated. Not because he hated the song. Not because he hated singing. But because the mories—those he’d forgotten or deliberately locked away in a giant black box forged of the strongest tal on Earth—were leaking out, no, exploding.

His mind flooded with images and voices of his old companions, his second family, arguing over who got to hear him sing first, cheering for him, clapping their hands.

Their laughter, which once eased his loneliness, now pierced his chest like a sharp blade, making him bleed from a wound long buried.

Sian felt like his heart was going to explode from sorrow. He wanted to see them again, even just once—even for a single second.

He continued singing with his eyes closed.

Maybe it was because he was afraid. Afraid that if he opened them, his feelings would betray him, and the tears he could already feel would fall from between his lashes.

With trembling eyelids and a red, flushed face—perhaps from suppressing overwhelming emotion—Sian stood under the glaring lights and sang the second half of the song:

"You can take everything I have

You can break everything I am

Like I’m made of glass

Like I’m made of paper"

His voice during this part was unbelievably gentle, heartbreakingly fragile, and—beautiful.

So beautiful that even the contestants in the audience, clearly his rivals, gaped in disbelief. Most of their bodies swayed unconsciously to the lody.

So even... whistled.

That sound snapped the teenager on stage out of his trance. He opened his eyes, finally. It was as if he were searching for sothing—soone precious. His gaze scanned the audience and every face under the stage. He stared and stared... but he didn’t find the familiar faces. He didn’t see the promised smiles. He couldn’t find the people...

Lan Qisheng watched silently.

He had seen the way Sian’s eyes darted frantically, searching every person in the crowd.

[Sian, who the hell are you looking for? Why won’t you look at ? Is that person so important you can’t even see anymore?]

"As the smoke clears, I awaken

And untangle you from ..."

"Sian, that sounds like a love song. Are you sure you haven’t fallen for your little puppy? You’re still a teenager, I get it!"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it too! Hahaha!"

"Ah! Boss, boss, I’m sorry! I won’t say it again! Please forgive my miserable life—I still want to have a hot night tonight... soone saves !"

"Hahaha! Serves you right! Boss cut off his third leg—that perv’s always in bed and never working!"

"Boss... Boss..."

At last, Sian could no longer hold back his tears—or his mories. Nothing in his body was under control anymore.

But he kept singing. He kept singing.

Even as every inch of his body scread in pain.

He knew this pain wasn’t real—not physical—but emotional, a phantom echo of his shattered heart and mind. But what could he do? He wasn’t a god. He was just a boy.

Amid all that suffering, Sian’s mind barely held him together, barely kept him breathing—like a puppet with no strings left.

He had always believed he lost all emotion the day he lost his family—his mother, his sister, his brother, everything.

But even he hadn’t realized it.

The years he’d spent with his team, the people he’d co to care for—those years mattered more than he could ever admit. So much so... that the final string snapped the mont he was separated from them.

Maybe deep down, he’d only been living to survive.

But after those years, after all the life-and-death monts, the laughter and the pain—he began living because he wanted to.

For himself, like his mother once told him.

And for the new family, he built with his own hands.

Unfortunately...

Lan Qisheng stood.

So did Jiao Liangchen.

Even the support team had risen, staring at the boy on the stage—

No, he wasn’t standing anymore.

The audience gasped when Sian suddenly dropped to his knees, one hand clutching the mic tightly, the mic stand clattering loudly to the ground.

His other hand gripped his chest—no, his heart—as if sothing inside him was breaking.

Why? Why this pain?

The audience was stunned.

Why was Sian crying? Was the song really that emotional? Sure, it was touching but...

His face looked pale under the stage lights—so pale, he resembled a terminal cancer patient.

(May you all be protected from such illness.)

At so point, he had bitten his lip. A trail of bright red blood trickled from the center of his mouth. The bite was deep.

Those amber eyes—once dazzling and radiant—were now clouded, dull, and brimming with tears that fell without end.

It was as if his soul had left this world.

Because... Sian was trapped.

Lost in the mories of a life long gone.

And he wasn’t even trying to escape.

Even if they were sad. Even if they were painful.

Even if they were dark.

Sian was hurting, barely conscious—but he was still singing. And singing well. Not once did his voice falter. Not even for a second.

"Would it make you feel better

To watch while I bleed?

All my windows still are broken

But I’m standing on my feet

Go run, run, run, I’m gonna stay right here

Watch you disappear

Go run, run, run

Yeah, it’s a long way down

But I am closer to the clouds up here..."

Each contestant was only allowed a short performance—no more than two minutes. So the song had been shortened in advance.

Sian’s version ended only half a minute after he collapsed.

And still, the audience sat frozen, too stunned to react.

When the final note ended, there was silence... then a sound.

Sian’s voice.

Yes, he was still singing.

Perhaps unconsciously—his eyes were still unfocused, dazed.

In a whisper filled with raw emotion, he sang:

"Skies are crying, I am watching

Catching teardrops in my..."

His voice suddenly cut off.

Not because he fainted—no.

He was still conscious.

At least, his eyes were wide open.

Wider than ever.

The fog in his amber eyes cleared, revealing sothing new.

They were staring—stunned—into a pair of deep golden eyes. Eyes peeking from behind a beautiful silver mask.