Chapter Seventy-Three: "Beneath the Waves"

For reasons he couldn’t quite explain, Comrade Xiao Wang suddenly felt that inviting Chen Fang to participate in this episode of the show was a mistake.

Chen Fang was a newcomer in the entertainment industry, lacking any real status. On top of that, his fanbase was small. Perhaps because of this, he could afford to do outrageous things on the program—he had no image to protect, nor did he need to tread carefully like other celebrities.

In fact, Chen Fang had no public persona at all.

At this thought, beads of cold sweat appeared on Xiao Wang’s forehead. Something felt terribly off! He could only hope that Chen Fang would keep his head down and behave over these next seven days, otherwise, as the accompanying PD, he’d end up taking the fall as well.

Driving, Xi Yuanyuan also thought Chen Fang’s words were a bit inappropriate and shot him a warning look. Unfortunately, Chen Fang, drowsy and half-asleep, didn’t notice her at all.

Chen Fang’s remarks were downright audacious.

The rest of the journey, Xiao Wang asked no further questions.

At two in the afternoon, the car gradually came to a stop. As the window rolled down, the rich scent of the sea filled the air, and the sound of waves crashing against rocks was especially clear.

The weather today was less than ideal. Dark clouds hung over the sea. If luck was on their side, it wouldn’t rain; if not, there might be a torrential downpour.

“Are we there?” Chen Fang had woken up.

He thought to himself that the next time he couldn’t sleep, he’d come nap in Xi Yuanyuan’s car. They’d driven four hundred kilometers, and the car was nearly out of gas. After refueling at a station, Chen Fang waved Xi Yuanyuan off.

From here on, he’d have to manage on his own.

“Be careful. If anything happens, call me at once,” Xi Yuanyuan instructed.

Chen Fang nodded. “Don’t worry.”

Only then did Xi Yuanyuan slowly start the car and disappear from view, leaving Chen Fang and his two companions behind.

Chen Fang closed his eyes for a moment, stretched lazily, and felt an unusual sense of comfort—both in body and mind—being far from the bustling city, here by the sea.

At this, Xiao Wang reminded him, “Mr. Chen Fang, you have four hours left.”

Chen Fang glanced around, asked a few passersby, and finally found the ticket office.

Just as he’d expected, the tickets were gone. After all, Yunmeng Island was a small place, and there weren’t many people traveling between it and the mainland, so tickets were always limited.

However, what surprised Chen Fang was that the tickets weren’t sold out—they’d been suspended. The ticket clerk explained reasonably enough: with the threat of a sudden downpour, it was unsafe to send boats out, so all official ferry services had been halted.

No planes. No boats. How was he supposed to get to the island?

Chen Fang sat on a bench outside the ticket office, pondering his options.

Ask the production team for help? Out of the question. The whole point of this task was to see what creative solutions the guest could come up with to get to the island; the harder the conditions, the happier the crew, since it would make for better footage later.

One had to admit, the camera operator was truly dedicated. From morning until now, he’d been filming Chen Fang non-stop, pausing only to change batteries when necessary.

“We’ll have to find a private boat,” Chen Fang said, standing up.

“Get more shots of his face,” Xiao Wang instructed the cameraman.

Chen Fang was handsome enough. If they didn’t have enough footage in editing, they could always splice in more shots of his face.

There weren’t many private boats, but there were still a few out fishing. As the saying goes, the rougher the seas, the higher the price of fish. However, private boat owners rarely took outsiders out, especially in bad weather—it was too risky.

Chen Fang approached several captains, and an hour later, finally struck a deal with one. He offered five times the normal ticket price, which did the trick.

When the boatman reached out for payment, Chen Fang turned to Xiao Wang. “Pay up! What are you standing there for? You don’t expect me to pay, do you?”

Xiao Wang was speechless.

According to the rules, all expenses were covered by the production team. So, Chen Fang’s request wasn’t unreasonable. But no one had ever been so shamelessly direct about it before.

“I’ll pay,” Xiao Wang finally replied, unable to muster a smile. With someone like Chen Fang, what else could he do?

The three of them boarded the boat without a hitch.

The boat moved slowly. At the helm was an elderly man, his skin weathered by years at sea, his clothes carrying a strong scent of salt and brine, and his Mandarin heavily accented.

People who lived by the sea loved to sing, though not popular tunes, only their own folk songs—melodies that floated gently across the water, drifting far and wide.

Land soon vanished from sight. It felt as if there was nothing left in the vast ocean but this one small boat, swaying in the wind beneath a heavy, sunless sky.

The sea shifted from a pale blue near the shore to a deep, inky black, lending the world a stifling, suffocating air.

Chen Fang lowered his gaze. The sea breeze was chilly. The old captain’s singing wasn’t particularly good, and was in dialect he couldn’t understand, but after a while, the tune became oddly intoxicating—almost addictive.

Soon, the singing faded, and only the sound of waves remained.

“Young man, what are you going to Yunmeng Island for?” the captain asked, unable to stay silent.

Chen Fang smiled. “I’m not in the best of spirits, so I thought I’d go for a change of scenery.”

He didn’t mention the show. Someone of the captain’s age wouldn’t know or care about variety programs, so there was no point explaining. A simpler reason would do.

“Son, if your mood’s bad, just sing! Like I just did—let it all out, and you’ll feel better,” the old man said with an easy laugh.

Chen Fang was tempted to sing, but nothing came to mind that suited the setting. Since he was on the sea, it had to be a song about the ocean.

Just then, the system spoke: “Host, I recommend opening the chest. If you open it now, you’ll get a song—guaranteed. Consider this my compensation.”

At the system’s prompting, Chen Fang remembered he still had a treasure chest left in his inventory.

He hesitated for a few seconds. “Alright, open it.”

“Opening chest…”

“Congratulations, Host. You’ve received the complete lyrics and music for ‘Under the Sea.’ It’s been delivered to your mind.”

Under the Sea?

Chen Fang was taken aback.

Impressive. The system had really come through—a phenomenal song, a windfall worth a hundred million.

“Alright, I’ll sing one too,” Chen Fang replied, picking up the conversation. Since he was on camera, he couldn’t miss a chance to shine.

He brought no instruments with him this trip, so he’d have to sing a cappella.

With no prelude, Chen Fang’s smile faded as he gazed out at the dark, endless sea. His demeanor shifted instantly into one of deep melancholy.