Chapter Fifty-Three: The Light of the Gods

The Forest of Lights was shrouded in silence; every guest sat with their mouths agape, like a school of fish hauled ashore in a net, staring at Cheng Xiaoyu beneath the spotlight, his face slick with sweat.

No applause.
No cheers.
No flowers.
It was as if time itself had frozen, as if the scene were a single, suspended frame. Only the dust motes whirled quietly in the glow of the spotlight.

Holding his guitar, Cheng Xiaoyu resembled Uriel, the keeper of melodies at the gates of the underworld. (Uriel, also known as Auriel, is famed as the fearsome angel of wrath, and with Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, stands among the four archangels before God. His name means “God’s Light” and “God’s Flame.” Legends say Uriel might be an archangel or a cherub, the flaming sword-bearer who guards the entrance to Eden. His “far-seeing eyes” discern all sin at a glance; in Paradise Lost, he detects Satan’s plot to invade Eden. He watches over lightning and terror, and yet, some mystical sects—perhaps the Gnostics—believe this just angel also presides over poetry and music. His colors are violet, white, and serene blue; he is the angel of Mondays, Wednesdays, and September, guardian of Venus—the planet of divine love and radiance.)

Cheng Xiaoyu rose lightly from his stool, the simple movement stirring the stagnant air. Dust swirled through the light like unfurling wings.

Then, applause crashed down like thunder, shattering the stillness. Not a single person remained seated.

Clutching his guitar, Cheng Xiaoyu bowed to the crowd. Then, someone in the audience took the lead, and the entire crowd bowed back.

It was a salute to great music.

In that instant, Cheng Xiaoyu could not tell if the wetness in his eyes was sweat or tears. He felt the grandeur of music and that he was not alone. For him, this song was not merely countless lonely nights in another world, but the joy of playing with his old band, again and again.

The audience’s transformation from silence to frenzy took no time at all. Roses flew onto the stage in torrents from the back of the room, showering the Forest of Lights in a rain of flowers. It wasn’t that those in the back were unwilling to come forward; the crowd was simply too dense to push through.

Before the rain of flowers even ceased, the speakers rang out with the voice of the bar owner, Chen Jinglong, who cleared his throat and announced, “Just now, a guest at Table K8 has gifted every table in the bar a set of Rémy Martin XO worth 1,600 yuan to celebrate such a magnificent performance.” He paused, then added, “On behalf of all our guests, I thank Table K8 for their generosity. From now on, everything at the bar is half price! Let’s give another round of applause for the ‘Crown of Sin’ keyboardist, Cheng Xiaoyu.” Before his words had faded, waiters appeared, trays gleaming under the lights, delivering drinks to every table.

The applause surged and swept through the room. Cheng Xiaoyu was somewhat astonished—who would so lavishly show him support?

The Rémy Martin XO, rarely touched at 1,600 a set, was almost out of stock; Chen Jinglong hurriedly called for more, grateful that the supplier was nearby and time was not lost.

Chen Jinglong went in person to Table K8, finding it filled with young people, all acquaintances of Cheng Xiaoyu. He thanked them on Cheng Xiaoyu’s behalf and said he would invite Cheng Xiaoyu over to toast them.

But a striking girl with short hair stopped him, asking that Cheng Xiaoyu not be brought over, and insisting that their presence remain unmentioned. Chen Jinglong was puzzled but smiled and agreed. For such generous guests, he had no reason to refuse any request.

In the crowd, Du Xing’s face was ashen. He had lost, utterly and without hope of reprieve.

Standing beside him, Liu Huaming and Qin Yi did not seem disappointed; both tried to comfort him.

Qin Yi patted Du Xing’s shoulder and murmured, “Losing to such a genius isn’t disgraceful—it’s an honor. There’s no shame in it.”

Liu Huaming, too, put aside her earlier distaste for Cheng Xiaoyu. She was clever enough to know that, in the face of overwhelming talent, one could only submit. Her mind was still filled with those enchanting melodies. A new thought began to take root: she wanted a song written by Cheng Xiaoyu. Once planted, the idea was irresistible, though she knew now was not the right time. Instead, she consoled Du Xing, “Qin Yi is right. We should be grateful to have heard such music.”

But Du Xing did not agree. He thought Qin Yi and Liu Huaming could only speak so lightly because it was not their defeat. He had always considered himself a prodigy, but tonight he realized how far he was from true genius. He had chosen the guitar, a rare instrument in China, precisely to be unique. Yet his dream was shattered at the very start by Cheng Xiaoyu.

His anguish was not only from losing, but also from Cheng Xiaoyu’s performance—the unparalleled skill that left him no hope of ever surpassing it.

Despair clouded Du Xing’s handsome face. He strode to the stage, where ten bottles of beer he’d ordered stood atop the front amp. He grabbed one, tilted his head back, and drank it down in one go.

Qin Yi hurried up, grabbed a bottle, and joined him. Liu Huaming hesitated, then walked over and sipped lightly from another bottle.

Fu Xiyue, standing a little apart, saw this and tried to help, but Du Xing shoved her away.

Liu Huaming caught the embarrassed Fu Xiyue’s arm, forced a smile, and whispered, “This is a heavy blow for him. Don’t blame him.”

Fu Xiyue actually liked Du Xing—otherwise, she wouldn’t have agreed so easily to join Liu Huaming tonight. Seeing his coldness, she knew he was venting his frustration on her. She did not blame him, only regretted calling Cheng Xiaoyu over. Lowering her head, she said softly to Liu Huaming, “I don’t blame him. I meddled too much tonight.”

Liu Huaming, as if forgetting she was the root of it all, was still somewhat exhilarated. She whispered, “What’s that chubby... I mean, what’s the name of that senior? His guitar was incredible!”

Fu Xiyue, lost in her own regret and heartbreak, barely noticed Liu Huaming’s oddness and answered automatically, “Cheng Xiaoyu.”

Liu Huaming saw that, apart from the half bottle in her hand, the other beers had nearly disappeared between Du Xing and Qin Yi. She quickly patted Fu Xiyue’s shoulder, “Don’t take it to heart. Whenever you’re free, call Cheng Xiaoyu out—I want to apologize to him.”

Fu Xiyue replied quietly, “Okay.” By now, Du Xing and Qin Yi had finished the beer, foam still on their lips, and staggered toward the bar’s exit. She wasn’t sure whether to follow.

Liu Huaming set her half-full bottle on the amp and told Fu Xiyue, “I’m leaving now,” making a phone-call gesture before heading out after Du Xing and Qin Yi.

In the bar, there were no jeers or mockery. Du Xing’s performance had been outstanding; if not for Cheng Xiaoyu’s brilliance, few could have bested him tonight. Several girls even applauded the dejected Du Xing.

Standing beside Xia Shamo, Cheng Xiaoyu felt nothing in particular for these people. To him, victory was tasteless. Spotting the solitary, lost Fu Xiyue, he approached and asked softly, “Would you like another drink?”

Fu Xiyue didn’t even look at him, shaking her head gently—she clearly had no wish to speak.

Cheng Xiaoyu put away his smile. “Sorry about tonight. Let me walk you home.” He bid farewell to his bandmates and led Fu Xiyue outside.

As they left, the customers began to cheer and tease; clearly, they misunderstood Cheng Xiaoyu’s relationship with Fu Xiyue. This performance had ensured everyone would remember this extraordinary, rotund figure.

Hearing the good-natured teasing, Cheng Xiaoyu could only smile back at them.

At a booth, Xu Qinning was almost giddy with excitement. Cheng Xiaoyu had won beautifully, making her so happy she hugged and kissed Su Yuxi several times, though she didn’t quite know why. She pulled out her phone and started texting Cheng Xiaoyu.

The generous Table K8, who had gifted Rémy Martin XO to the entire audience, was, of course, none other than Su Yuxi and Xu Qinning’s group.

Right after the music ended, Xu Qinning, cheeks flushed, grabbed Huang Xiaoqi, who sat on the sofa in disbelief, staring at Cheng Xiaoyu on stage. “Go buy flowers—why are you still sitting there?”

Xu Qinning had left home with not a penny, still under probation; she didn’t have a cent. Su Yuxi didn’t usually carry much cash—maybe a few hundred at most. She had little need for spending; many of her clothes were sponsored by magazines.

Huang Xiaoqi had no idea about the relationship between Cheng Xiaoyu and Su Yuxi. He summoned a waiter, pulled out 1,000 yuan, and said, “Send 100 roses to that chubby guy.”

But the waiter didn’t take the money, looking troubled. “Sorry, sir, we’re out of roses. There’s simply none left.”

Huang Xiaoqi glanced at Xu Qinning helplessly. “Nothing I can do. It’s not that I don’t support the guy—there’s just nothing left to give!”

Xu Qinning smacked him on the back of the head. “Watch your mouth—‘that chubby guy’! His name is Cheng Xiaoyu; you should call him Brother Yu.”

Huang Xiaoqi quickly dodged her hand. “Please, Ning-jie! I need my head unscathed—my hairstyle can’t be ruined! He’s just a resident musician. Why do you care if I call him ‘brother’?”

If anyone else had hit his head, he wouldn’t have stood for it, regardless of their gender.

Su Yuxi turned, slightly displeased, and said softly, “That chubby guy on stage is my brother.” It was the first time all night she’d spoken to Huang Xiaoqi.

His displeasure vanished, replaced by utter disbelief. He looked at Su Yuxi’s stunning face, then back at Cheng Xiaoyu on stage, stammering, “Su Yuxi, he’s really your brother?” His expression was one of complicated dread.

Su Yuxi nodded—her first public acknowledgment of her connection to Cheng Xiaoyu. Even with Xu Qinning, she had only ever not denied it, never said it outright.

Looking at Su Yuxi’s profile, Huang Xiaoqi felt his soul leave his body. Her beauty was a dream he could never hope to realize. Regaining his composure, he opened his wallet—finding little cash, he pulled out a card and told the waiter, “Send five thousand roses, then. If you can’t find any here, buy them from outside.”

The waiter was so stunned he didn’t dare take the card, stammering, “There’s nowhere to buy that many flowers at this hour.”

Xu Qinning smacked Huang Xiaoqi’s head again. “Are you stupid? Think you’re courting someone? A few flowers aren’t worth that much.” She turned to the nervous waiter. “What’s the most expensive drink in this bar?”

Huang Xiaoqi could do nothing to stop her, shielding his head in case she struck again.

Without hesitation, the waiter replied, “Rémy Martin XO, 1,600 a set. Comes with a fruit platter, six sodas, and two snacks.”

Xu Qinning snatched the credit card from Huang Xiaoqi’s hand and handed it to the waiter. “One for everyone in the bar.”

The waistcoated waiter felt his brain about to explode; his whole world was on the verge of collapse. He’d never seen such extravagant guests in his life. He stared blankly at Xu Qinning, sunglasses still perched on her nose. “Please wait—I can’t authorize this. I’ll get the boss!” He thought they must be crazy. One bottle per person? With over a hundred people in the bar, that would cost tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands.

Chen Jinglong, hearing the report, hurried over. He remembered this table—so many beauties, two of them exceptional.

He bent slightly to listen as Huang Xiaoqi repeated Xu Qinning’s request. After a moment’s thought, he suggested, “No need to give everyone a bottle. We don’t have enough XO in stock, and we can’t keep track of who gets what. How about a set for each table?” Chen Jinglong was at least a conscientious businessman—not out to fleece these young people.

Huang Xiaoqi wasn’t the least concerned about spending tens of thousands. Su Yuxi’s brother was more important than his own. If this money could win her a smile, it was worth it. Though he wasn’t quite at the level of throwing away hundreds of thousands without feeling it—he probably only spent ten thousand or so a month.

Still, he was unmoved by Chen Jinglong’s consideration, waving impatiently, “One set per person, no more talk. Tens of thousands to support Brother Yu—I still think it’s not enough!”

Chen Jinglong, realizing Cheng Xiaoyu knew these people, was even more determined not to let things get out of hand. He explained patiently that it was simply impossible for the bar, and tried to persuade Huang Xiaoqi to abandon the idea. After all, one set per table was already a huge profit. One per person—he couldn’t bring himself to fleece Cheng Xiaoyu’s friends so shamelessly.

Huang Xiaoqi was at a loss. For the first time, he had money and nowhere to spend it. He looked helplessly at Xu Qinning, not daring to look directly at Su Yuxi.

Xu Qinning, though eccentric, wasn’t unreasonable. She cut Chen Jinglong off, “Fine, one set per table, but make it clear it’s to support Cheng Xiaoyu!”

Chen Jinglong agreed with a smile. For the first time, he felt that making money could be a burden. As he left, he asked if he should call Cheng Xiaoyu over.

Xu Qinning quickly told him not to mention them to Cheng Xiaoyu.

And so, the entire bar was treated to drinks—just as the night began.