Conflict

As the intro suddenly began, a rhythm emerged in the deep, distant wind and the crisp, droplet-like piano notes, stirring up hollow echoes that felt eerie and uncanny.

“It’s an original song by Changgeng,” Mo Lei said under her breath, explaining it to the viewers online.

This was an original track Nan Changgeng had released in the second year after her inexplicable disappearance. Because the style was so grim and strange, it not only failed to make much of a splash; it also scared away some of the fans who had been waiting for her all along.

[Maybe I haven’t woken up yet. One day, I actually heard someone cover Dark Tunnel.]

[People who haven’t heard this song should brace themselves.]

[The song is great. If you think it sounds bad, you should reflect on whether your taste has fallen behind.]

Yu Mao became absorbed in the music. When the intro ended, she closed her eyes and began to sing; her damp, dark tone sounded like some mysterious and terrifying monster whispering quietly in the shadows.

“Aaah—oooh—uhhh——”

This passage didn’t sound like a conventional song, beautiful or grand. Instead, it felt like a wind carrying the smell of damp earth, sobbing as it passed through a black tunnel with no visible end; twisted, strange, even a little shrill.

The accompaniment that had abruptly dropped out at the same time made the silence feel even more uncanny, sending chills straight down one’s spine.

Yu Mao’s voice was different from the original singer’s thick, magnetic timbre. Hers was lighter and clearer, though not shrill; like a long, cold wisp of mist drifting through the woods, touched with chilling moisture, faint and weak. Because of that, it was somehow even more unsettling than the original.

A few seconds later, the accompaniment came back in, with individual instruments slowly layering one after another, shifting from eerie to a tense, nerve-tightening urgency.

By the later part of the song, the English lyrics clung wetly to the tongue; once the verse ended and the chorus surged in, that vague unease instantly transformed into something heavier, more suffocating, and more frightening.

The torn transitions, the high shrieking notes; aside from the voice, everything matched the original with flawless precision.

Goosebumps rose in layer after layer. The contestants unconsciously pressed close to the people beside them, nearly shrinking into someone else’s arms.

Only Nan Changgeng listened with increasing focus, her expression growing more and more serious; a bright light flickered in her eyes.

[Is this the opening theme of a horror movie? *** I’m scared to death.]

[This is killing my poor heart. Who exactly would think this song sounds good?]

[It does sound good! I didn’t expect her to cover it this well. The original tone is heavier and more sorrowful, but this version feels even more terrifying.]

The music ended on a scream, the tail of the vocal line collapsing outward, faintly foreshadowing a descent into destruction.

Yu Mao opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and a light flush rose in her face. Her gaze flickered slightly, as if excited, but her expression remained blank.

Mo Lei pressed a hand to her chest and laughed with a sigh. “No wonder it’s Dark Tunnel. Even we’re finding you a little creepy now. Let’s start with an introduction.”

“My name is Yu Mao. I’m twenty-two this year, and I graduated from A University’s Department of Computer Science.”

Chen Shuyun raised an eyebrow and studied her. “Twenty-two? You don’t look it.”

Yu Mao said nothing, giving no reaction at all.

Only then did the others realize this girl was a bit of a problem; setting aside her lack of variety-show presence, she also didn’t like talking.

But the director’s team kept reminding them through their earpieces to dig up more talking points from her.

Xin Heng took over the lead-in and asked, “Why did you come to this stage? You sang a song by Nan Changgeng; is it related to her?”

Yu Mao nodded, not hiding it. “Yes. For Nan Changgeng.”

“Oh, my.” Mo Lei looked toward the woman sitting upright among the contestants and teased with a smile, “Changgeng, this is your little fan. Aren’t you going to respond? What did you think of her performance just now?”

“Very good.” Nan Changgeng smiled faintly, a trace of emotion flashing in her eyes. “As far as imitating my singing style goes, she’s flawless. Her breath control, the transitions, even some of the detailed enunciation are exactly the same. It’s hard to imagine how many times she must have listened to this song.”

If Yu Mao hadn’t come for her as a fan, she would have thought the girl was imitating too much and lacked something of her own. But since she was a fan, all Nan Changgeng felt was moved.

Yu Mao turned slightly and looked over at her; her catlike eyes widened, the black depths especially bright.

From so far away, Nan Changgeng couldn’t make out exactly what emotion lay in those eyes. It seemed hot, yet there was also a crystalline emptiness to it.

Her brows drew together for an instant, then relaxed.

Yu Mao.

A somewhat strange person.

Mo Lei still wanted to keep Q&Aing Yu Mao and ask her to share her thoughts, but she was interrupted by Zhao Xuan, who suddenly spoke.

He pointed at the left ear Yu Mao had exposed after turning her head, like an exam proctor who had just caught a student passing notes, and asked with a furrowed, stern brow, “What’s that you’re wearing in your ear?”

Yu Mao turned back at an unhurried pace, glanced at Zhao Xuan, then brushed aside the hair covering her ear, revealing a tiny Bluetooth earbud.

“An earbud.”

This time, even the other mentors looked surprised.

Zhang Ling asked, “Why are you wearing an earbud? To listen to the accompaniment?”

The stage was only so big, and nobody was interfering with her hearing the live accompaniment. Was that really necessary?

“To listen to music.” Her expression didn’t change.

“...?” Everyone in the venue looked blank.

Chen Shuyun looked dazed. “Do you mean it the way I think you do?”

Listening to music through an earbud while singing. Was she even human?

Xin Heng coughed lightly. “Uh, what are you listening to? Can you play it for us?”

“Mm.”

Yu Mao slipped a hand into the small pocket of her skirt, pulled out a tiny portable smart player, and pressed a button to disconnect the Bluetooth.

The next second, that familiar thick, magnetic voice began singing a melancholy melody, drifting leisurely across the stage.

Everyone’s gaze shifted, almost in unison, to a certain woman in the contestants’ seats.

Nan Changgeng blinked slowly, her expression a little blank; she was clearly stunned too.

Mo Lei felt as if she had encountered the most incomprehensible thing in her career. She opened her mouth. “...You listen to Changgeng’s other songs while you’re singing?”

Zhang Ling looked dazed. “Is that even possible? Wouldn’t you make mistakes really easily?”

Yu Mao raised one finger and lightly brushed it across the center of her brow, saying flatly, “Listen to music on the left; sing to the accompaniment on the right. That’s all.”

“...”

The livestream barrage went wild:

[The legendary split attention... and I actually got to see it in real life.]

[I’m so jealous, damn it. I want that skill too. Imagine reading novels on one side and memorizing vocabulary on the other; that’d be amazing.]

[Don’t be jealous. There might be side effects. Look at her carefully; does she seem mentally normal to you? She looks like she’s missing three souls.]

[She is a bit... off, but that might not be the reason.]

Mo Lei rubbed her temples, then laughed in confusion. “Why do you always keep an earbud in? Even if Changgeng’s songs are great, you don’t have to keep it in right now, do you?”

“It’s a habit.” Yu Mao lowered her eyes, fiddled with the player, reconnected the Bluetooth, and tucked it back into her pocket. Then she blinked and said again, “It’s my habit.”

From behind, Nan Changgeng listened for a while and couldn’t help speaking up, her tone a little awkward.

“Wearing earbuds for long periods will damage your hearing. You should... uh, be moderate.”

It sounded oddly like a cigarette seller telling someone that smoking was harmful to health.

Yu Mao pressed her lips together and didn’t turn around. “I’ll do my best.”

Mo Lei let out a breath. “All right, mentors, please score first.”

The four lowered their heads to mark their scores, then held up the boards.

From left to right, they were one hundred, ninety-nine, one hundred, and ninety-five. Only the last one was an eye-catching twenty.

Everyone frowned and looked toward Zhao Xuan. His expression had been bad ever since Yu Mao started singing. They had been mentally prepared for a low score, but they hadn’t expected it to be this low.

Zhao Xuan cleared his throat, slightly raised his chin, and spoke with a trace of arrogance in his eyes. “I gave a low score because I figured the other mentors would definitely score you very high. But I don’t think you have the qualifications to get into Class A.”

That was completely without mercy.

The little camera drone continued filming Yu Mao in midair, even smartly zooming in on her, but it didn’t catch even the slightest change in her expression.

Zhang Ling was still young after all, and she couldn’t quite control her face. The doubt in her eyes showed through. “Can you explain that a bit more? I think her strength is very strong. At least in terms of vocal ability, she can rank among the top in Class A.”

“She does sing pretty well, but don’t you think this wailing, ghost-howling song sounds awful?” Zhao Xuan spread his hands. “And she’s wearing earbuds while performing onstage; I think she lacks the most basic reverence and respect for the stage.”

The mentors were speechless.

They still had some restraint, but the internet was not going to indulge him at all.

[This thing is a rock singer? Does the rock circle even acknowledge him?]

[Anyone can say they play rock. Men, lacking self-awareness, are pretty common like this.]

[Disgusting. Did your production team invite him just to piss off the audience?]

[Isn’t this a little too deliberate? He targeted Nan Changgeng, and now he’s targeting her fan. Do these two have some grudge?]

“Respect?”

Yu Mao turned her eyes toward him. Her thin monolid lifted, her black pupils reflecting nothing at all as she said without a ripple in her voice, “You want to talk about respect? Are you worthy?”

The venue erupted in uproar, filled with shock.

The contestants covered their mouths, exchanged looks with their seatmates, and whispered among themselves. Some people even laughed gleefully out loud.

No one had expected this strange, odd girl to be so fierce.

But no one sympathized with Zhao Xuan; they only thought he deserved it.

Zhao Xuan’s face went from green to white, then flushed red with anger. Blood rushed to his head as he glared at Yu Mao and began spewing insults and abuse, so agitated that spit flew everywhere.

The backstage director team reacted instantly, urgently muting his mic along with the mics of the two mentors seated beside him.

The little drone had no audio recording enabled, so once the backstage sound feed was cut, the livestream could no longer hear what he was saying.

The explosive moment was already here, and the director team was also worried he might make the situation even worse. They immediately sent staff rushing in to calm Zhao Xuan down, while also preventing him from getting so enraged that he might actually start hitting someone.