"Alright, that's enough chatter. Now, let us welcome our competing guest, 'Even Another Bite Won't Make Me Fat,' with her performance!"

As the host wrapped up the warm-up, Xu Qingqiu quickly adjusted her mood and stood in place.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…

The lights went out one by one, plunging the stage into darkness.

Soon after, a whistling sound, as if from afar, pierced the silence.

A beam of light slowly ignited, illuminating Xu Qingqiu.

The black stage floor was enveloped in white mist. Combined with Xu Qingqiu's white dress, she appeared ethereally isolated from the world under the light.

If it weren't for the giant orange cat headpiece, the overall stage effect would have been quite stunning.

However, this headpiece was so distracting it completely ruined the aesthetic.

Nevertheless, the power of music was immense. Many people, to avoid being disturbed, voluntarily closed their eyes and listened silently.

As the music gradually swelled, Xu Qingqiu slowly raised the microphone.

Perhaps because she wasn't yet accustomed to such a large headpiece, when she first raised the microphone, it was obstructed, and she momentarily struggled to locate her mouth.

Fortunately, she had enough time to quickly adjust, lowering the microphone to align with the opening that had been intentionally left.

Despite these minor mishaps, Xu Qingqiu, with her extensive stage experience, remained completely unfazed.

"Nowhere to escape"

"No branch to lean on"

"Marching on with a smile"

"Unyielding and resilient"

"Forgetting youth"

"…"

This time, she performed her own song, "Direction of Light." Since it was her first performance, sticking to a familiar piece was the safer choice.

Of course, it wasn't the original version; otherwise, her identity would be revealed.

This rendition was rearranged by Chu Tian, featuring a faster overall tempo and modifications to the instrumentation.

If the original song was akin to narrating a story, this version felt like a battle hymn.

It was no longer a mere recounting but an oath before a campaign, brimming with fervor and courage!

Furthermore, under Chu Tian's tutelage, Xu Qingqiu had completely altered her vocal timbre. Using specific techniques, she transformed her naturally clear voice into one that was deeper and carried a hint of huskiness.

She sounded like a heroine: resonant, powerful, yet robust and steady.

Forget the audience; even those who knew her well would find it difficult to believe it was the same person singing if they hadn't witnessed it themselves. The song was in a completely different style.

"Never feared loneliness on my voyage"

"Tears and regrets entwined, my heart ablaze, yearning for the horizon"

"Past hardships are carving knives"

"Though my wings are broken, still I soar"

As the rhythm accelerated, more instruments joined, crafting a soundscape reminiscent of a stirring battle march, an immense army poised for combat.

The majestic orchestral score blended beautifully with the melodious strains of the flute and guzheng.

It evoked a vivid image: a blood-soaked battlefield under a setting sun, the air filled with the clang of iron hooves.

"Following the direction illuminated by light, I forget you"

"Memories depreciate into my stubborn demeanor"

"I rely on this light in the dark night"

"To meet it with a long song"

"Treading the River of Life, this madness not in vain"

A spirited chorus culminated in an unparalleled high note.

A moment of silence descended, like a sudden bloom of youth or an echo of history. The entire studio was so quiet you could hear a pin drop; everyone suppressed their emotions, a volcano simmering in their chests.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP—the sound of heartbeats, like vibrating drum skins, grew from faint to strong, from chaotic to unified.

Gradually, everyone seemed to hear heartbeats from all around, like thundering war drums, making their blood boil.

Though it lasted only two brief seconds, it felt like a century to everyone.

Two seconds later, deafening symphonic music erupted, and Xu Qingqiu, too, raised her microphone, her voice soaring.

A long, sustained high note, like the ethereal voice of a deity or the commanding call of a monarch, instantly resonated through the hall.

It then guided everyone's emotions to an instantaneous, thoroughly exhilarating release!

"Damn, damn! I almost thought my heart had stopped! That was so suffocating!"

"My heart is still pounding. During that quiet moment, my eyes nearly popped out of my head!"

"Thank goodness she started singing again! Otherwise, I would have thought I was being sent to a battlefield; I was actually looking down for a weapon."

After the song concluded, a brief silence was shattered by an immediate uproar from the audience, everyone eager to share their experience.

They especially recalled those two seconds of pause, which had felt like an oppressive, heavy eternity. But when the release came, it was as thrilling as accomplishing some monumental feat.

Most unforgettable were those two seconds filled with the deafening sound of synchronized heartbeats, an inexplicable phenomenon where everyone's pulse seemed to align.

The sensation of heartbeats emanating from all directions left an indelible mark.

This was, in fact, a subtle trick employed by Chu Tian. Anyone familiar with the musical arrangement would know it involved a specific instrument: a special type of drum.

This drum produced a muffled, deep sound—a low frequency that resonated from afar. If one wasn't listening intently, it bore a striking resemblance to a heartbeat.

Furthermore, this drumbeat hadn't only been present during those two seconds. It had commenced much earlier, though it remained understated, overshadowed by other musical elements.

However, unconsciously, under its subtle influence, everyone's heartbeats—or perhaps their subconscious reactions—had begun to synchronize with the drum's rhythm.

It wasn't until that moment of silence that the drum's effect reached its zenith, creating that truly breathtaking scene.

The result spoke for itself; it was a moment the audience members present would cherish for a lifetime.

After Xu Qingqiu silently exited, the host returned to the stage. The next performer was Qin Xiao.

Chu Tian watched with keen interest, curious to see Qin Xiao's performance.

He had known about her song choice for a while.

"Next, please welcome competing guest 'Jasmine Flower,' performing 'Morning bound for midnight'!"

Chu Tian wasn't surprised by this choice. It seemed his opponent's strategy was to directly piggyback off Xu Qingqiu's fame.

After all, Xu Qingqiu was the hottest singer of the month, possessing a rare, divine album, hailed as a top-tier new generation singer, and a powerhouse in streaming figures.

It was a game of smoke and mirrors: on one hand, creating buzz by association and leeching off her popularity; on the other, forcing Xu Qingqiu to endure it without recourse.

Little did they know, Chu Tian had intentionally approved the song's license. If he was going to play their game, how could he do so without proper bait?

"Once like the night so dark, every morning,"

"Once blocking every dream, every door,"

"Ultimately, infinite possibilities might also freely unfold,"

Qin Xiao's voice was also deliberately disguised, but whether due to insufficient skill or by design, her natural timbre remained quite apparent.

Of course, this was also partly because Qin Xiao's vocal profile was quite common, lacking truly distinctive features, making her difficult to identify by voice alone.

But the song itself… well, what could one say? The performance was good, very good even.

It was delivered with high proficiency, no mistakes, and her Singing Skills were clearly up to a certain standard.

Perhaps to a layperson, it sounded flawless.

To professionals, however, it was unremarkable—not bad, just too ordinary.

In other words, there were no surprises. From the arrangement to the vocals, it was as bland as plain water.

This wasn't an album recording or a showcase; it was a competition!

Among a field of strong contenders, lacking uniqueness or an element of surprise meant failing to capture attention.

After all, her rendition wasn't much better than Xu Qingqiu's original—perhaps even slightly inferior. In that case, why not just listen to the album? What was the point of a live version?

Therefore, by the time Qin Xiao was halfway through her song, Chu Tian had already lost interest.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Is this all? No surprises. It's far too unchallenging.

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