"Ku Music platform has already sold over 70,000 albums, and that’s just album purchases, not counting individual tracks," one person typed.
"Green Orange Music has over 60,000, which isn’t a small number either," another added.
"Bubble Music, 89,000, almost 90,000!"
"Damn, watching these numbers makes my heart tremble. I’m drooling with envy!"
"This is just the beginning! If the last two songs are good quality, album sales will surge again!"
"I’m not talking anymore; I’m going to listen to the songs."
Everyone in the group vanished, closing their chat boxes and opening their favorite music streaming apps.
"No Escape"
"No Branch to Lean On"
"..."
"The past hardships are like a chisel, breaking wings, yet still I try to fly,"
"Following the light’s direction, I forget you,"
"mories depreciate into my stubborn facade,"
"I rely on the light in this dark night"
"To et it with a long song,"
"Treading the River of Life, my passion unregretted,"
...
Majestic!
This was the word that spontaneously erged in the listeners’ minds.
The entire song was like a raging torrent, carrying an incomparable force, surging forth like a mighty flood. Xu Qingqiu’s cool and pure voice erged like a clear spring, yet it stirred up boundless, rapidly surging waves. It was like a long sword slashing through darkness, piercing the clouds and parting the waves.
"Incredible! (That power in her voice!)"
"Did the bass reach D3? How high did the treble go? Did anyone catch that?"
"The bass is definitely low enough, but her high notes aren’t at her peak; she’s clearly holding back, yet the power is unparalleled!"
"Building up from a lower range to a climax? That bass has numb! The main thing is, it’s so stable, right?"
"I can hear her breathing, but I’m not sure if it’s real. It’s too stable, not even a tremor. Is this really a raw recording?"
"I do sound tuning myself. Unless God intervened, no one could tune breath sounds so perfectly. It must be a raw recording."
"My God, is she even human? She’s only in her twenties, right?"
"Terrifying!"
"Terrifying indeed! But forget the singing skills for now. There’s one last song. The previous eleven are almost all classics. Is there any doubt about this last one?"
"Exactly! Any doubts? If it were you, would you release eleven classic songs and one piece of trash? Would you do that?"
"Mixing gold with crap? I couldn’t do such a thing. It would disgust for a lifeti!"
"So, would Xu Qingqiu do it?"
"Damn! Now that you ntion it, doesn’t that an the twelfth song *must* be a classic? An entire album of classics?!"
"Damn!"
"Damn 1"
...
"Damn 9999"
After the chat was flooded with ’Damn!’, it went quiet for over a minute before soone spoke again.
"Damn, are we about to witness history?"
"This isn’t just history; this is witnessing a miracle! An entire classic album, a legendary album! In this day and age, what global superstar would even dare attempt this?"
"Did Xu Qingqiu get backed by so tycoon? Where did she get the money to produce such a god-tier album?"
"A tycoon? Does she even need one? Young alone outshines countless tycoons! With him handling lyrics, composition, and arrangent, how much could recording and the music video possibly cost?"
"Fuck! My legs are weak. Does Master Young need soone to warm his bed?"
"Get lost! My ass is fairer. I’m first in line!"
"You’re over thirty. Have you no sha? I’m just over twenty; I’m younger than you!"
"Screw off! You’re twenty-eight or twenty-nine and still claiming to be ’just over twenty’? Going bald yet, old man?"
"Alright, let’s stop bickering. I’m going to witness the birth of this legendary album! This is sothing I can brag about for a lifeti!"
"I’m going too!"
" too! I want to record this. It’s truly a historic mont!"
A group of industry peers, who initially watched as re gossiping spectators, had unknowingly beco die-hard fans. They were practically ready to cling to Xu Qingqiu’s legs, staring with bated breath at this album as if worshipping a deity.
anwhile, the general netizens had not yet realized the gravity of the situation. They had already been floored by this whole affair, joyfully listening to the new songs. The problem was, there were simply too many of them!
I like this song, and this one too. That one’s not bad either. Oh, and I kind of want to listen to that other one as well. What to do? Play a single song on repeat? No, I’ll loop the playlist. It’s really too hard to choose!
These past few days, people stopped feeling emo. What was there to be emo about? Inspirational songs played on repeat in their ears. Screw being emo—just get to work!
Forget emo; during this ti, everyone who had listened to the songs was buzzing with energy, as if on a high. Students studying, office workers, even construction workers—each was more motivated than the last. Many bosses and teachers watched their subordinates and students, who seed as if they were on drugs, to the point they considered calling the police.
Only after asking did they find out it was because of the songs.
What songs could do this? they wondered.
After listening themselves, they thought, Holy shit! I’ve been such a slacker! How can I just lie flat at my age? I must work! I must strive! I must reach the peak! Wait a second... haven’t I already achieved financial freedom and made a na for myself?
A surge of motivation flared, only for them to glance at the Rolls-Royce Cullinan and Maybach in their garage, and then at their 800-square-ter villas. Suddenly, they realized they probably didn’t *need* to strive anymore. Yet, these songs are really good. They almost swept away!
Despite this, these individuals all added the songs to their playlists.
After all, nobody’s money grows on trees, and you can’t just find a Maybach or a Cullinan lying on the street. Who among them didn’t have a history of struggle in their early days? Recalling those tis, carrying a bag through streets and alleys, walking tens of kiloters a day relying solely on their own two feet... And look at us now.
Amidst sighs and emotions, couldn’t they reminisce about those arduous days of striving? Even though those days were tough, they held the spirited dreams of youth and the mory of that unattainable ideal, the one yearned for in midnight dreams.
Now, they were successful and wealthy, but money couldn’t fill the regrets of the past. Their aging parents and gradually weakening bodies were constant reminders that money couldn’t buy back ti.
"This album is good. I’ll buy it!" so of the wealthy declared, waving their hands grandly, and sales on the music platforms continued to climb steadily.
And the last song, as if tid perfectly, arrived fashionably late: "Song of the Wind."
"On this journey of stops and starts, following the drifting traces of youth,"
"The mont before stepping out of the train station, I hesitated."
"I couldn’t help but laugh; this timidity of nearing ho was still unavoidable."
"And the sky over Nagano is still so warm,"
"The wind stirs up mories of the past..."
From the opening track, "The Original Dream," to the first new song, "My Dream," this album told the story of a girl chasing her dreams. There were twists and turns, obstacles, and stumbles, but more than anything, there was an unyielding drive forward—the bravery to chase those dreams, a refusal to surrender or regret, and the courage and strength to start all over again if need be.
This final song felt like a farewell, a concluding self-reflection. Looking back, though tis and circumstances had changed, her original aspirations remained steadfast. The future was bright and brilliant, and she faced it filled with courage.
"Now, having wandered through this world of myriad fascinations,"
"Flipping through the different faces of the years, I unexpectedly stumble upon your smiling face."
"I was once lost in the vastness of the world, indulging in its dream-like whispers,"
"Unable to tell true from false, making no struggle, fearing no ridicule."
"I once poured my surging youth into becoming her; I once plucked the vibrant notes of midsumr with my fingertips."
"Whatever moves the heart, just let it be, follow its course."
"..."
The song ended. The lody lingered, and the wind began to rise...
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