Chapter Seventy-Four: What a Thoroughly Cathartic Melancholy!

Dark clouds pressed low overhead.

The sea surged and tossed.

This fishing boat had become a drifting leaf upon the waves—unable to sink, yet incapable of truly rising.

Rain was coming.

That was all there was to say.

Chen Fang’s luck was, indeed, less than ideal.

Of all days, today was the one scheduled for filming, and the weather over Yunmeng Island had turned so vicious.

In the air, the briny scent of the sea grew ever more pungent.

At that moment, Chen Fang’s demeanor was the very picture of melancholy.

“Why do I feel a bit cold?” Xiao Wang shivered.

True, the weather was poor, the sun hidden, and wind and waves rising on the sea; yet it was still summer in the capital, and even rain should bring oppressive heat, not chill.

The camera lens remained trained on Chen Fang.

Almost the instant his mood shifted, the cameraman instinctively lowered the shot, aiming at the ink-black sea, as if trying to capture whatever might be lurking in that darkness.

But soon enough, the focus returned to Chen Fang’s face.

“He looks incredible!” Xiao Wang was stunned.

He was quite secure in his orientation—he’d just gotten engaged to his girlfriend, after all—and never felt any interest in men. But seeing Chen Fang now, his eyes lowered, his entire being exuding subdued sorrow, Xiao Wang’s heart lurched violently.

Why was that?

Xiao Wang had seen plenty of male celebrities in show business try to cultivate a brooding persona.

But none of them compared to Chen Fang at this moment.

Right now, Chen Fang was the very embodiment of a melancholic prince.

When Xiao Wang snapped out of his daze, his eyes gleamed with excitement. This was exactly the kind of dramatic moment the production team hoped for—the more footage like this they got, the more explosive the final edit would be.

The cameraman needed no prompting from Xiao Wang; his lens never left Chen Fang’s face for a moment.

Chen Fang didn’t announce the song’s title.

After a brief, heavy silence, he began singing, a cappella.

◤Moonlight scattered, filtering through clouds,
Avoiding the crowds,
Laying scales upon the sea.
The waves soaked your white dress,
Trying to push you back,
The waves washed away the bloodstains,
Vainly wishing to warm you.◢

In an instant, the three others aboard felt their eardrums tremble, goosebumps rising all over.

The melody of this song was extraordinary.

No—the true marvel was Chen Fang’s voice.

His timbre was deep, husky, with a hint of magnetism—perfect for songs of sorrow. Whether heartbreak ballads or laments about life’s pain, it was as though his voice had been crafted precisely for such music.

Originally, this song, “Under the Sea,” called for an ethereal voice.

Only an ethereal voice could convey the sensation of sinking deeper and deeper, the utter hopelessness and futility of struggling in the abyss.

On Earth, this song had many covers.

The most famous probably being by Phoenix Legend.

Many listeners said that Durian’s “Under the Sea” told everyone, “I understand your pain—it’s okay, let’s sink together into the boundless darkness, far from this world’s suffering.” Phoenix Legend’s cover, meanwhile, seemed to say, “I know you’re hurting, but it’s alright—there’s still time. Take my hand; I’ll lead you to hope again.”

The original was more ethereal and oppressive.

The cover, more passionate and optimistic.

Each had its own allure.

But if Chen Fang had to choose, he preferred Durian’s sense of powerlessness.

Rather than clinging to a sliver of hope that someone would pull you from the abyss, Chen Fang found the feeling of discovering a kindred spirit far more captivating.

He didn’t need saving.

He just needed to find someone like himself.

That was the feeling Chen Fang cherished.

After all, in this world, there were precious few good Samaritans reaching into the darkness to pull you out.

When one becomes accustomed to the indifference and warmth of society, the despair and helplessness of Durian’s original feels almost comforting—a message of, “I respect your descent, and I’m willing to be with you.”

Because of this, Chen Fang’s performance leaned toward the original, not the cover.

But he had overlooked one thing.

He sang with such profound sorrow.

It made people want to cry.

Aboard the boat, Xiao Wang’s mood grew heavy and stifling.

Even the old captain, always smiling, took out his pipe and puffed away, his cloudy eyes full of sadness and regret.

The waves surged higher.

The wind grew fiercer.

The wailing wind nearly drowned out Chen Fang’s song.

Gradually, the rain began to fall, a soft, persistent drizzle.

Rain, wind, the roar of the sea—all blended with Chen Fang’s voice, not in discord, but in perfect harmony.

At this moment, Chen Fang was a far cry from his usual carefree self. Yet it had to be admitted: in this melancholic state, his charisma was overwhelming. Thankfully, the boat was all men—had there been women, Chen Fang would surely have found himself being embraced and comforted.

“Is this the real him?” Xiao Wang wondered.

No! Both the usual and the melancholy Chen Fang were equally real.

The contrast was simply too intense.

Xiao Wang could hardly believe the man singing before him was really Chen Fang.

And then, in the next instant, Xiao Wang’s amazement only deepened.

This song... was an original!

There was no trace of it in the Chinese music database. The emotional power was too strong—if it were a song from the existing repertoire, someone like Xiao Wang, who worked in entertainment, would have heard it.

Therefore—

This was Chen Fang’s original composition.

Another original!

Another song destined to become a phenomenon!

It was over! The show “Future Star” had truly found a treasure.

◤Listen deep beneath the sea,
Whose lament guides you?
Your soul sinks into silence,
No one comes to wake you.◢

Chen Fang’s gaze remained fixed on the dark sea, as if looking through the black surface to the very bottom, where no one dwelled, but where souls could finally find rest.

His singing grew even lower, more somber.

This song was devastatingly oppressive.

One could not help but weep upon hearing it.

Most crucially—

Chen Fang himself seemed unaware of the effect. His voice only deepened the emotion, the suffocating despair so intense it left one gasping for air.

The old captain wanted to interrupt him—after all, he was nearly eighty, half a foot already in the grave. After hearing Chen Fang’s song, he felt all will to live draining away.

But Xiao Wang caught the old man’s arm and shook his head.

They mustn’t interrupt.

Chen Fang had to finish.

Xiao Wang had a premonition: this song would be the season’s most explosive highlight on “Let’s Fall in Love.” The fact that its debut was on a boat, with only three listeners, was pure gold for the production.

All of it, precious footage.

Seeing this, the captain sighed and kept puffing on his pipe.

He blamed himself for speaking up earlier—he should never have asked the young man to sing.

And now, he was the one suffering.

Xiao Wang moved to the cameraman’s side, lending a hand to steady the camera—now that the wind and waves were rising, they had to keep the shot steady.

It looked like a storm was upon them.

The captain quickly pushed the engine to full power, speeding toward Yunmeng Island.

◤Too late, too late,
You once smiled through your tears.
Too late, too late,
Your trembling arms.
Too late, too late,
No one will pull you from the depths.
Too late, too late,
Though you hate to suffocate.◢

The song approached its end. Each repetition of “too late” drove the oppressive emotion ever deeper, yet offered no release.

It left the heart aching with pent-up sorrow.

Perhaps this was why so many preferred the Phoenix Legend version.

Because in Durian’s, “too late” was truly too late—there was nothing left but tears, sinking, and an inability to breathe. But Phoenix Legend’s “too late” lifted the mood, assuring you that there was still time, that light and hope remained within reach.