Luo Ding had no idea that the watch on his wrist had caused such a stir. He was swept along with the crowd to his seat in the third row—not too close to the front.
Pan Yiming sat in front of him, in the second row. The first row was reserved for the show’s sponsors, big brand executives, and other heavyweight figures from various entertainment companies. Gu Yaxing, as the boss of Yaxing Studio, attended as Luo Ding’s manager, but the organizers, after assessing Yaxing Studio and Gu Yaxing’s value, still gave him a seat in the front row.
In business, success often hinges on small opportunities. Luo Ding’s rise to fame was like a giant stone plunging into a stagnant pond, creating massive waves. The twilight of Yaxing Studio had passed. In just a few months of Luo Ding’s overseas filming, Gu Yaxing had leveraged his influence to sign a batch of highly potential newcomers, as well as secure commercial opportunities that Luo Ding himself wasn’t interested in. Gu Yaxing seized the fleeting chance and succeeded.
In the business world, there isn’t as much concern about things like status or personal connections as there is among artists.
Experience, relationships—none of that matters. Once the money comes in, these things will naturally find their way to you.
Sitting next to Gu Yaxing was the head of a small management company who had once been known as a “golden manager” in his youth. He was good at socializing and recognized Gu Yaxing right away, immediately starting to engage him in respectful conversation.
Gu Yaxing wasn’t a proud man. He had experienced the cold shoulders when his company was on the brink of crisis and had now encountered overwhelming flattery since Luo Ding’s rise to fame. He’d been through both the highs and lows, and his maturity prevented him from being easily swayed by external changes. The two hit it off, exchanging pleasantries and soon calling each other “brother.” But just as they were about to discuss business, an unwelcome guest interrupted their conversation.
Jiang Changfeng had been observing the two chatting intensely from a distance, frowning. He couldn’t understand why Gu Yaxing was being so cordial and respectful to an old manager he didn’t even know the name of. In fact, it had been years since Jiang had seen Gu Yaxing smile at him. Whenever their eyes met, Gu seemed to be suppressing a deep-seated disgust. Even in candid photos, Gu always appeared burdened, walking around with a furrowed brow, as if weighed down by some invisible load.
The vibrant, charismatic young man who once stood on stage had become increasingly silent and serious. Jiang had assumed Gu had simply changed over time, but it was clear now that he just didn’t want to smile at him.
Jiang approached the two, patting the old manager on the shoulder, his gaze sharp and threatening.
The man quickly got the message and gave up his seat. Neither a talent agency nor a small management company could afford to challenge a behemoth like Universal Entertainment.
The moment Gu Yaxing saw Jiang Changfeng, his smile faded, and he looked away with a blank expression.
“Luo Ding got nominated for Best Newcomer?” Jiang broke the silence first, his tone as condescending as ever. “How long has he been in the industry? And he’s only getting nominated now? Mellen has won so many awards in Korea, and not to mention the artists under me…”
Gu Yaxing cut him off, “It’s none of your business.”
Jiang tried to keep the conversation going, but being shut down like that made him furious. “Getting cocky over a Newcomer Award?”
“I said it’s none of your business.”
“None of my business? Right, it’s not. Who said I was trying to manage you?” Jiang’s expression hardened as he leaned closer to Gu Yaxing, sneering, “After all these years, you still haven’t learned a thing. Have you bet everything on Luo Ding? You really think you’re going to win? How much did you spend on that EP for him? More than you’ve ever spent on yourself, right? What is he to you?”
Gu clenched his fists. “Do you think I’m as dirty as you?”
“I’m dirty?” Jiang’s eyes darkened, and he slowly reached out toward Gu’s face, but the moment his fingers touched Gu’s earlobe, his hand was slapped away.
“Get away from me!” Gu snarled, his face filled with disgust.
Jiang stared at him, then let out a cold laugh. “You really think your wings have grown strong?”
“My wings have always been strong,” Gu said slowly and deliberately before standing to leave.
Jiang was quick to grab his wrist, yanking him back, his anger now obvious. “Just wait. It’s only a nomination. Every other nominee has more experience than your guy. He’s just clueless.”
“President Jiang.” A calm, clear male voice interrupted from nearby. Jiang turned his head, still gripping Gu’s wrist, and saw Luo Ding standing there with a polite smile.
Luo Ding extended his hand, lightly placing it over Jiang’s. His fingers, thin and delicate, exerted enough force to make Jiang release his grip.
“Gu Yaxing and I have something to discuss. Excuse us.”
Luo Ding gave Gu Yaxing a look, guiding him back to the third row. “What happened? Why does he keep bothering you?”
Gu shook his head, not wanting to talk about it. From the angle of his bowed head, a few strands of unruly hair stuck out stubbornly at the back. Luo Ding felt both sympathy and affection, patting Gu’s head before turning to look at the group seated beside him.
Eight men and eight women. Since sitting down, the girls hadn’t stopped chatting. The young men were clearly divided into factions—those who were close sat together, while those who didn’t get along kept their distance. You could tell just by the seating arrangement who belonged to which group.
Mellen, a Korean group, had been nominated based on an album released at the start of the year. Though they were foreign, they had already established a firm footing in the Chinese music scene.
The young man sitting closest to Luo Ding spoke a bit of Chinese and had exchanged a few words with him earlier. But after learning Luo Ding’s name, his attitude changed. He became cold and dismissive, sneaking sideways glances at Luo and whispering to his companions.
It was impolite but not aggressive enough to provoke a direct confrontation.
Typical behavior for youngsters—full of hot blood and pride, but still a little sly from their time in the entertainment industry. When the senior artists in the second row turned around to ask the girls to lower their voices, the group was all politeness and humility. The only reason they treated Luo with such disregard was likely because, in terms of experience, they saw themselves as the seniors.
Luo Ding remained unfazed, smiling as if he hadn’t noticed the provocation at all.
He knew exactly why there was animosity. After releasing his EP, Gu Yaxing had told him how Universal Entertainment had tried to push Mellen’s album to compete against him. Jiang Changfeng had recklessly rushed the production of Mellen’s album, hoping to leverage their existing popularity to outshine Luo Ding. But Luo’s sales had skyrocketed, and Mellen’s hastily produced album ended up being delayed by a month.
Even Mellen’s fans could tell that the new album lacked the polish of their previous work. Feeling cheated, their reactions were less than enthusiastic, and the overall reception fell far below expectations.
Mellen was aware of why their album had been rushed, and they certainly weren’t going to feel kindly toward Luo Ding, who indirectly caused their failure. Competing for the Best Newcomer Award was no longer a realistic goal for them. Their only hope was the earlier album released at the beginning of the year. Even though it was mostly in Korean, with just one Chinese song, they had to take this shot. After all, the Best Newcomer Award was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Despite their resentment, they couldn’t cross the line into outright hostility. As long as they didn’t provoke him, Luo Ding was content to ignore them. In a setting like this, you couldn’t win by being the loudest. Everyone was watching, and individual character would always be revealed to those paying attention.
The members of Mellen exchanged glances, all seething with frustration.
They had come all the way to China, unfamiliar with the culture and language, and had put in far more effort than local artists. Working with Universal Entertainment to release an album should have been their breakthrough, but Luo Ding’s sudden rise had thrown their plans into disarray.
The Chinese Music Festival was the pinnacle of the Chinese music awards. Missing out on the Best Newcomer Award would severely impact their standing. Popularity alone wasn’t enough to succeed in China. But their new album had already failed, and the old one had only been nominated because of their collaboration with Universal Entertainment. And now, they faced a formidable rival in Luo Ding. How could they possibly keep calm?
The atmosphere was thick with tension, and everyone was determined to give their best performance during the group showcase. They hoped to win over the judges before the awards were announced.
As the lights dimmed, the sixteen-member group spread out across the stage, occupying nearly half of it.
The host introduced Mellen’s popularity and album sales, and Jiang Changfeng, sitting below, had been listening casually, his legs crossed. But when the intro music started, he froze.
He glared at his assistant. “What are they performing?”
“‘Superman,’ sir. It’s the most popular song on their album, and the choreography is great. It’ll definitely outshine Luo Ding’s performance from the Network Media Music Awards.” Ever since Jiang ordered that Mellen must overshadow Luo Ding, the assistants had been brainstorming strategies. Luo’s dance performance at the Network Media Awards had caused a sensation, breaking records for viewership and replay requests. According to backstage data, the segment featuring Luo’s dance was the most replayed and paused part of the entire show.
But surely sixteen people dancing together would be more impressive than a solo performance, right? Especially with a song like “Superman,” which had a strong rhythm and composition, crafted by one of the most respected rock bands in Europe. Plus, Mellen’s members had been training as dancers for years before their debut. They were seasoned professionals.
The assistant, feeling proud of his work, watched as Jiang’s eyes remained glued to the stage, where the members spun in perfect synchronization, their long limbs cutting elegant arcs through the air.
“Idiots! Pigs!” Jiang cursed, smacking the assistant on the back of the head before storming out.
The moment the music started, Luo Ding knew Mellen was doomed. He couldn’t understand how their management and planning team had failed so badly, sending the group to perform a dance routine without understanding the local context.
Sure, dance performances were a great way to energize the crowd. People’s emotions could easily be stirred by strong rhythms and intense choreography. That was why Luo had chosen to dance at the Network Media Music Awards.
But those awards had fans in attendance.
The Annual Music Festival, though also an awards ceremony, was held in a semi-outdoor venue. There were no seats for the general audience—only seats for the nominees and guests, and the event could only be viewed through television broadcasts.
Who was Mellen’s performance meant to hype up?
The audience consisted of fellow musicians and judges, not fans. None of them were going to scream like fangirls. In fact, they were even more composed than ordinary spectators, focusing solely on analyzing the singer’s voice, enunciation, breath control, and high notes. And no matter how fit a person was, once they started dancing, it was impossible to maintain perfect vocal control.
There was also an unspoken but widely known truth among professionals in the industry. Luo Ding didn’t want to admit it, but it was a fact. In the Chinese music scene, dance tracks were seen as the least prestigious genre and were not accepted by traditional culture. To veteran singers, casually dancing a bit while singing was fine, but to put half your energy into dancing? How could you still sing well? Wasn’t that putting the cart before the horse?
Moreover, very few people performed foreign-language songs at the Chinese Music Festival. If it hadn’t been for the one Chinese song on Mellen’s earlier album, not even Universal Entertainment could have secured them a nomination. And now, in front of judges who prided themselves on upholding Chinese music, they were going to sing an English song?
Were they really that ignorant of the local context, or was this just a huge oversight?
Gu Yaxing was a bit worried. “They’re dancing pretty well.”
Oh, Luo Ding understood now.
It wasn’t common knowledge. Gu Yaxing, despite his background as a singer, wasn’t aware of these taboos. Universal Entertainment didn’t have many dealings in the music industry, so it was understandable they wouldn’t know either.
It was a shame for Mellen. Korea’s packaging industry was certainly top-notch, and while the group members were mostly just above-average in looks, their fashion and hairstyles made them seem incredibly stylish. Their dancing was indeed impressive, every move filled with power, a testament to their years of training.
When the song ended, the applause was sparse, and with so few people in the audience, it didn’t make much of an impact.
Sweating profusely, Mellen left the stage, heading backstage to touch up and change outfits.
All the nominees for Best Newcomer were seated in the third row, and Luo Ding could clearly see their reactions. Most of them were nervously watching Mellen leave, their faces filled with tension.
It was Luo Ding’s turn next.
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