Vote

“Does this song sound very sad?”

Nan Changgeng looked a little surprised, because to her, the piece itself wasn’t sad; it just carried a sense of emptiness and chill.

But Yu Mao shook her head again and lowered her eyes listlessly. “I’m very sad.”

By the end of the song, all that emptiness had been filled with fragments of old memories, each jagged edge sharp beyond reason, stabbing at her heart until it dripped blood.

If Nan Changgeng hadn’t stayed within her line of sight the entire time, like an effective pain pump, how could she still be sitting here unscathed?

Nan Changgeng found that hard to understand.

But she couldn’t keep dwelling on it in this setting. Seeing that the girl had stopped crying, she simply patted her head and coaxed her gently, “It’s Baiyu’s turn. Perfect timing; let’s listen to something happier.”

As a lively singing-and-dancing performer, Lin Baiyu always picked upbeat songs. The moment the intro began, the whole atmosphere turned restless.

Unfortunately, Yu Mao still couldn’t be swayed by it. Her gaze circled Lin Baiyu again and again before finally settling on her shoes; then she reached out and covered them with her hand.

Nan Changgeng: “……”

Caught between confusion and helplessness, she suddenly noticed the girl’s lips moving as if she were murmuring something. Leaning down to listen closely, she heard:

“Safe… safe…”

She didn’t understand what it meant, yet her heart gave an inexplicable jolt.

Her expression complicated, she asked, “What are you trying to do?”

“Touch.” Yu Mao lifted her head. Her black eyes were empty, filled with a shimmer of water; under the stage lights, a fleeting glimmer flashed there like a mirage.

She wanted to touch; she wanted the most direct connection and sense of contact.

And shoes were thick, their texture largely cut off; they were the part least likely to cross a woman’s boundaries or disturb her.

Perhaps that strange sixth sense kicked in again; Nan Changgeng saw through the deepest unease in her eyes and, with a flash of insight, vaguely understood what she meant.

Her chest immediately ached, stirred by a faint, indescribable fluttering feeling, like a wisp of a drifting dream.

Before her brain could even catch up, she had already reached out first, taken that thin little paw into her palm, and pulled it close.

One up and one down, like an adult holding a child’s hand.

Yu Mao’s eyes widened in stunned silence, and her whole arm went stiff.

They looked at each other; neither spoke.

Yu Mao’s mind had gone blank in an instant, as if a layer of ash had been swept clean away. All her attention concentrated on the hand being held. The woman’s warm palm was extremely soft, making her fingertips seem so hard, like dry branches wrapped in flesh. She didn’t dare move at all, afraid of hurting her by accident.

Feeling the stiffness in her, Nan Changgeng watched her for a long while, then smiled.

“When people interact, they’re supposed to shake hands, you know? If you grab someone’s foot, be careful they might hit you.”

Her tone was that of someone lecturing a child; clearly a joke, but beneath the teasing there seemed to be something deeper, hard to pin down.

Yu Mao nodded blankly, turning from a melancholy cat into a silly one, apparently curing her sadness by losing her brain.

Nan Changgeng, however, felt satisfied. No matter what, as a way to coax her, this method was effective.

So the two of them maintained this rather awkward posture. To anyone else, it looked as though their relationship were incredibly close, inseparable.

Lin Baiyu had just finished singing and was still catching her breath when she turned her head and caught sight of the two of them. Her expression twisted uncontrollably for a moment, and the memory from makeup prep stormed back into her mind with malicious force.

What the… in public, and they really couldn’t restrain themselves like this?

Her emotions surged so hard that she entirely failed to notice her shocked, world-view-shattering expression being projected on the giant screen for the entire venue.

That, in turn, caused the camera to follow her line of sight and swing toward the contestants’ seats, enlarging the two of them on the screen.

A new wave of cries erupted from the audience below. The venue was so large that not everyone could originally see what was happening in the contestants’ area; now they could see it clearly at last.

And the netizens in the livestream, who had been cursing the production team and demanding their personal camera shots back, all went speechless at once. The barrage froze for a moment before resuming its scroll.

[So this is how you coax someone, Nan Changgeng? (numb.jpg)]

[Big Sis Nan: Then what else? Don’t you people know what she likes most?]

[Just say whether you coaxed her successfully or not]

[The little cat is way too easy to coax. Feels like the vote went to waste. Nan Changgeng was already strong to begin with; when Cat goes on stage later, can she even pull a higher vote count than this?]

[Fake fan, get out. How is there still someone who doesn’t realize it’s better for Nan Changgeng to win than for Cat to win herself?]

[Your realization isn’t enough either; what do you mean “better”? It should be said that only if Nan Changgeng wins will she be happy]

[Damn, somehow this is sad… Solo fans feel heartbroken; shippers feel soothed]

Nan Changgeng noticed herself on the big screen, then looked down at Yu Mao, who was still completely out of the loop, and gave a helpless smile.

Luckily the camera only lingered briefly; a few seconds later, it smoothly shifted to the next contestant.

Suppressing a trace of awkwardness in her heart, she didn’t let go until the next performer came onstage, then turned Yu Mao’s head so she would watch the show.

Yu Mao reluctantly rested her hand, still carrying the lingering warmth, on her lap. She didn’t add any extra touch, trying to hold on to that sensation a little longer.

So focused on the hand was she that she still didn’t listen to the song properly.

Only after another contestant finished singing did the host call her name.

Yu Mao stood up and walked at an unhurried pace to the center of the stage, carrying the handheld microphone. It hung at her side and somehow seemed heavy.

When she stood at the front of the stage and faced the dense crowd and the many colored lights, her expression was calm. Even though the prelude had already started, she still looked detached from the present moment.

The fans’ heart-rending screams couldn’t wake her.

With her eyes slightly lowered, she gripped the microphone with both hands and sang this slow love song in an atmosphere of silence. A song full of deep emotion was sung by her without a hint of feeling, dark and eerie, her tone flat enough to feel uncanny.

As if an AI had developed self-awareness and was trying to disguise itself as human by imitating the way people say “I love you,” mechanically producing sound with its absolutely precise player; absurd and improper, yet revealing even more strangeness.

Though it was supposed to be a mainstream love song, not a single person in the audience joined in; only Yu Mao’s hollow voice echoed through the enormous venue.

The goosebumps that should have risen at the emotional peak came on time as well; only this time, they crawled up the skin in a chill.

Viewers who watched the livestream every day had actually expected this outcome long ago. Although the livestream didn’t let them hear rehearsals and run-throughs, watching the full process made it obvious she hadn’t done a pre-singing session with Nan Changgeng this time. Unable to imitate it, the version she sang could only be uniquely Yu Mao’s.

That was true enough…

“It has a certain charm to it.”

After the performance ended, the host walked forward with a bright smile, still able to put on an astonished expression; her professionalism and facial control were impeccable.

“This is the first time I’ve heard someone sing a love song like this. It’s very special.”

She didn’t try to ask Yu Mao why she had sung it that way. No one watching the show didn’t know she could only sing like this.

To avoid killing the mood, she deliberately didn’t throw the topic to Yu Mao and instead turned the microphone toward the audience. “What do you all think of this song? Was it good?”

A passionate reply rose from below, with shouts of “Good!” though most of them were concentrated in the area lit by red lights. Clearly, only a minority found this style to their taste.

Yu Mao stood off to the side, her face utterly still, as if it had nothing to do with her.

But the host wasn’t about to let her go so easily. She had already prepared the cue she needed to bring up. Clearing her throat, she looked at Yu Mao. “Earlier, you made a bet with Changgeng, right? On whose fans would come out the most at the venue.”

Yu Mao gave a light nod and turned to look toward Nan Changgeng, meeting her gaze from afar.

She showed a very faint smile. Whether it was an illusion caused by the distance or not, Yu Mao felt that Nan Changgeng’s body had somehow become a little tense, even her suit looking a touch more neat and upright.

The audience below was noisily shouting the names of their favorite contestants. The host kept the suspense going for a bit before smiling and saying, “Why don’t we do a vote test? Pick up the voting device in your hands, press the number of the contestant you like most, and our backstage team will tally it. We’ll know the result right away.”

“Okay!!”

The audience erupted in cheers; as soon as the host said, “Voting begins,” they impatiently pressed the button.

Of course, not every person who came here was a dedicated fan. A small number were just passersby who had nothing better to do and came to listen to the singing and watch the performances. Some of them chose not to vote, while others picked a contestant they had a good impression of on the spot.

Using the thirty-second voting window, the show fit in an ad break. The host, with her smooth delivery, finished reciting all the sponsors’ copy.

Once voting ended, the host heard the vote count in her earpiece and put on that same mysterious smile, clearly intending to drag out the suspense again.

She interviewed Yu Mao. “Nervous?”

Yu Mao turned her head and glanced at her, saying nothing.

“Okay, I know.” She deftly changed the line of questioning, not letting the silence last more than two seconds. Amid the audience’s laughter, she announced the result word by word:

“The results of the live audience vote show that the most popular contestant is—Yu Mao!”

“Yu Mao!!”

The audience instantly erupted into a boiling tide of shouts, calling the same name in perfect unison. The fans screamed themselves hoarse with excitement, and the roar shot straight into the sky.

For ordinary people who had never personally witnessed the splendor of the entertainment world, such a scene was already shockingly moving. An expanse of love, falling from the heavens and the earth alike, came only for you; who could not be stirred by it, tearful with emotion?

Someone in the contestants’ seats was infected by the atmosphere, goosebumps rising all over, rubbing their arms while secretly reddening around the eyes.

Nan Changgeng leaned back in her chair, her posture loose, almost as if she were pulling away. Yet her gaze remained fixed on the girl standing in the center of the stage. Her wrist pressed against her abdomen, and she unconsciously bent her fingers.

This stage was truly enormous.

A smooth black surface spread beneath the lights; standing on it felt like standing in the starry sky, surrounded by vast silence and a cluster of stars. The darker the black, the brighter the stars seemed.

Those stars weren’t the lights; they were the passion of the audience below, and the many pairs of focused eyes.

Nan Changgeng had experienced a similar spectacle before, and she understood that feeling all too well. It was like the whole heart had been filled past capacity, the body light as air, as though one were the sun itself, brimming with energy.

How could anyone resist that kind of overwhelming surprise and happiness?

Watching that slender, tiny figure stand on the high platform, draped in radiant light, with countless hands raised and waving below and countless pairs of eyes full of fervor and sincerity, it seemed as though they were lifting her up high.

She forced herself to speculate with pure rationality whether Yu Mao would be swallowed by the surging tide of love, moved and healed by it, and thus shift her gaze away from her and see a bigger world.

Which answer was she really hoping for… she couldn’t lie to her own heart.

If even such love, vast as the sea, couldn’t shake Yu Mao, then she would truly be certain that this cat belonged entirely to her.

She should have wished Yu Mao a path toward healing and a healthy life; but someone like that would definitely be unable to accept or trust her.

She knew herself rationally and clearly; naturally she knew that her own need for the purity of “relationship” and “love” could be called frightening.

Only a pet she kept, wholly belonging to her, could barely meet the standard; if it fell on a human being… she thought there would never be any human who could truly satisfy her.

So she waited for an answer. While she still had some room left in her heart to leave herself an escape hatch, it was still in time.