Chapter Fifty-Nine: Another Card is Played

Music and wine, to some extent, can help people forget their troubles. At least, that was what Chen Siyang thought. She had no idea what Tang Zhichu was up to—why he was ignoring her like this. Had she said anything out of line yesterday? There hadn't even been an argument. She'd merely shared some of her feelings with him, hadn't said she didn't want him anymore. How vexing!

Suddenly, a stool was set down in front of her, followed by a large plate piled high with freshly grilled skewers. Still, he said nothing. Jiang Lan called out loudly, “Eat first, stop fussing around.” Tang Zhichu shook his head. “The eggplant’s not done yet. You guys sing, I’ll make a few more.” Zhou Yun grabbed a chicken wing and said to Jiang Lan, “Lan, don’t mind her. Let’s sing.”

The speakers blared with raucous music—a rock song. Zhou Yun handed a bottle of beer to Chen Siyang, who took it in silence.

...

Inside the production van, Li Hongzhou frowned, his expression dark. So, what exactly are they doing? He turned around to look at the directors sitting behind him. “Why is there a problem at this stage?” he demanded.

The directors exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to speak. Tang Zhichu and Chen Siyang were now the program’s biggest draw. If not even one couple formed in this dating show, then what would be the point? It would be a laughingstock.

Everything between Tang Zhichu and Chen Siyang had gone smoothly from the start, yet problems arose right at the end, just as the program was about to wrap up. Li Hongzhou felt a headache coming on. Why had he reached out to Tianhe Entertainment in the first place? It was to make this couple happen. Tianhe, representing Chen Siyang, had even suggested that Li Hongzhou set up a meeting with DY’s side.

And what was there to discuss? In essence—profit-sharing. Li Hongzhou had baked a cake and brought together those who provided the cream and those who provided the flour, so they could discuss how to slice and sell it.

But before the meeting even started, the cake was already falling apart.

The van fell into a heavy silence; no one dared risk drawing the director’s ire at a moment like this.

...

Tang Zhichu continued grilling skewers, as if oblivious to the wild music and the barbed lyrics. But when he saw Chen Siyang down her third beer, he finally set aside the barbecue tongs. He removed his apron, washed his hands, and retreated to the tent.

Seeing him leave, Chen Siyang’s voice caught in her throat. She handed the microphone to Jiang Lan. “Lan, I don’t want to sing anymore.”

Jiang Lan took the mic and glanced after Tang Zhichu, sighing softly. “Yangyang, trust him, will you? I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Chen Siyang gave a faint reply, but tears were already glimmering in her eyes. Jiang Lan gently took her arm.

Just then, Tang Zhichu emerged from the tent once more. Jiang Lan patted Chen Siyang, signaling her to look.

Chen Siyang turned and saw Tang Zhichu striding straight over to the karaoke equipment. With a decisive “click,” he switched off the music.

Zhou Yun was about to protest when Tang Zhichu pulled out a USB drive and plugged it into the system. Zhou Yun bit back her words.

After a few adjustments, Tang Zhichu set the serving tray aside and sat down heavily on the stool. He looked to Jiang Lan. “Lan, could I borrow the microphone? I’d like to sing a song.”

Jiang Lan handed him the mic.

First came the sound of a piano; then, on the screen opposite, animated visuals appeared. Tang Zhichu had made them himself, just for displaying lyrics. Lately, he’d been comparing songs in the copyright library, creating many pieces that didn’t exist in this world and adding them to the collection.

This song was one of them, finished just recently. The arrangement was simple—a solo piano introduction.

At last, the song’s title appeared on the screen.

“If I Were to Call You a Song”
Lyrics: Tang Zhichu
Music: Tang Zhichu

Fallen leaves without a root, a single thread can’t make a string
No home to return to, yet no place to wander

Everyone stared, unsure what Tang Zhichu was doing. When they realized he was about to sing, their interest was piqued. Yang Jiaxing and Huang Zejun leaned in closer.

As soon as Tang Zhichu began, Yang Jiaxing muttered, astonished. Tang Zhichu’s voice was a classic young male timbre—clear and bright, powerful, yet never shrill. Instead, it was smooth and beautiful.

Even the girls were left in a daze.

After the first two lines, Tang Zhichu turned to look at Chen Siyang, signaling her to read the lyrics.

Only then did Chen Siyang tear her gaze from him and look at the screen.

You gifting me red beans—
I’d rather write you a song,
Signing my name, neat and beautiful.

If I were to call you a song,
You’d be the high mountains and flowing waters,
A beauty dancing with heaven and earth,
The exquisite grace of a broken string.

If I were to call you a song,
The song would be my lingering sorrow,
All living things in harmony,
Yet my soul is taken away—

The exquisite grace of a broken string.

Tears still streaked Chen Siyang’s cheeks. Her mind was blank. Her first reaction was—hadn’t he said he wasn’t much of a singer? Then how could his voice be so beautiful? How could he hit such high notes? And the skillful runs—how was that possible?

Beside her, Jiang Lan murmured, “You gifting me red beans—I'd rather write you a song, signing my name, neat and beautiful.”

At this moment, Jiang Lan was likely the only one who’d noticed the songwriter’s name at the start. Everyone else was mesmerized by his singing. This was Tang Zhichu’s original work.

Fallen leaves without a root, a single thread can’t make a string
A mouth without a heart, talent without fate
What use, watching stars alone, even if they shine?
If our love is unwavering, why must we hold hands and gaze as equals?

Tang Zhichu glanced at Chen Siyang again. He knew she hadn’t paid attention to the lyrics’ details. She only knew to look at him.

He'd altered the lyrics slightly. Right at the start was the line: “You gifting me red beans—I'd rather write you a song.” That was Tang Zhichu’s attitude. He hadn’t changed—this was simply strategy, and it was never aimed at Chen Siyang.

And just now: “If our love is unwavering, why must we hold hands and gaze as equals?”—a sentiment like the old poem: “If love between both sides can last for ages, why need they stay together night and day?”

Tang Zhichu had already made up his mind yesterday—if Chen Siyang couldn’t decide, he would. If other people’s feelings became fodder for profit, he didn’t care; but he wouldn’t let his own become someone else’s bargaining chip.

But if this couple fell apart, the show would be left with none at all. That was immense pressure for the producers.

Tang Zhichu had to add weight to his side of the scale. Singing wasn’t just for Chen Siyang’s sake.

Yet Chen Siyang clearly didn’t understand. She only knew to look at him.

And she smiled. For heaven’s sake, could she at least wipe her tears before she smiled?

If I were to call you a song,
You’d be the high mountains and flowing waters,
A beauty dancing with heaven and earth,
The exquisite grace of a broken string.

If I were to call you a song,
The song would be my lingering sorrow,
All living things in harmony,
Yet my soul is taken away—

The exquisite grace of a broken string.

All living things in harmony,
Yet my soul is taken away—

The exquisite grace of a broken string.