Chapter Ninety-Five: He Still Needed Another Identity

At the moment Chen Fang began to sing, the barrage of comments across the entire internet fell into a brief silence.

The night sky.

The waves.

Chen Fang.

Singing.

Together they formed a masterpiece worthy of the world’s galleries.

An Tinghan’s presence merely added a little more beauty to the painting; without her, it would not have made much difference.

After all, the night sky exists everywhere.

The waves can be found anywhere.

Only Chen Fang’s voice was indispensable within that picture.

I pray for a transparent heart

And eyes that know how to weep

Give me the courage to believe again

Oh, cross the lies and hold you in my arms

Whenever I cannot find the meaning of existence

Whenever I lose my way in the dark night

Oh, the brightest star in the night sky

Please guide me closer to you

The chorus arrived unexpectedly early, seeming somewhat at odds with the song’s deep, subdued rhythm. Yet as Chen Fang’s voice rose, every emotion buried within the melody was drawn out into the open.

Looking back, one understood ideals, came to terms with youth, and let go of her.

But to understand also meant to have missed.

In every absurd, unrestrained season of life, someone appears, barges into your world, teaches you what love is, then hastily boards the next train and leaves you behind.

That person may occupy only a tenth, even a hundredth, of your life.

And yet he or she shines like a star, forever hanging in your heart.

The brightest star in the night sky.

The night sky is your empty and lonely heart.

The bright star is that person.

To be honest, the song leans toward sorrow, but in all seriousness, it is not the kind of sorrow that can make one burst into tears, nor even the kind that reddens the eyes.

Its emotion is not an instant eruption, but a gradual realization born from repeated cycles of understanding.

So this song is meant to be played on repeat.

The more times one listens, the more one comes to understand the feeling hidden in the lyrics.

The song was drawing to a close.

The guitar also began its final fade.

A few meteors streaked across the night sky, and the camera following the producer captured those fleeting moments tightly, freezing them in place.

The brightest star in the night sky

Can you hear clearly

The loneliness and sighs

In the hearts of those who gaze upward

By the final four lines of lyrics, Chen Fang simply set the guitar aside and chose to sing entirely a cappella, without the slightest instrumental accompaniment.

His voice drifted away on the sea breeze, riding the waves into the distance, until the crashing surf swallowed every other sound. Only then did Chen Fang turn his head to look at An Tinghan beside him.

An Tinghan was utterly entranced.

In the shot, she stared at Chen Fang dazedly, not blinking once.

She was clearly the top diva of the entertainment world, yet in front of Chen Fang she behaved like a starstruck little girl.

“Time to go back and sleep,” Chen Fang said with a smile, rising from the reef.

Hearing this, An Tinghan finally came to herself, her eyes brimming with infatuation.

Chen Fang strolled leisurely toward the tents, while An Tinghan followed behind him like a dutiful young wife.

The camera did not follow. It lingered on Chen Fang and An Tinghan disappearing from view, then slowly tilted upward toward the star-filled sky. The next second, a playful and romantic caption appeared on the screen:

Good night. Sleep well [heart].

And then, in the blink of an eye, it was already the sixth day of filming.

...

Inside the villa, Ji Mei pressed herself against Chen Fang’s chest and pleaded coquettishly, “I want to hear you sing too.”

“If you want to hear it, I’ll sing,” Chen Fang said with a smile, stroking her glossy hair. It was hard for him to refuse anything Ji Mei asked.

Besides, singing was easy for him.

Su Mu Rou could no longer hold back. Lying on the sofa with a vacant gaze, she said, “Bo Niu, I’m suddenly so jealous of you. I want a boyfriend like that too.”

Chen Fang teased her with a grin, “You’re too late.”

Ji Mei was smiling just as happily.

Come to think of it, she ought to thank the Star Path for this.

If not for the audition stage of that show, Chen Fang and Ji Mei’s lives would probably never have crossed, let alone led them to be together.

Su Mu Rou glanced at Chen Fang.

This man was usually a bit of a smart aleck, but when he sang, his charm was truly overwhelming.

Su Mu Rou had never been interested in men to begin with.

Now that she knew Chen Fang, whenever she met any other man, she would unconsciously compare him to Chen Fang.

But in this world, how many men could possibly be better than Chen Fang?

And even if such a man really existed, would she even get the chance to make her move?

Good men were in high demand too.

Thinking of this, Su Mu Rou let out a sigh.

It looked as though marriage would be difficult for her in this lifetime.

Still, as Ji Mei’s best friend, seeing her best friend find such an outstanding man made Su Mu Rou genuinely happy for her. It was just that Chen Fang’s charm was too great, and there were so many beautiful female entertainers in the entertainment industry. What if one day Chen Fang made a mistake?

Her feelings were mixed.

Su Mu Rou could only pray that Chen Fang would not make a moral mistake.

After all, cheating is not against the law.

Chen Fang did not know that Su Mu Rou’s inner turmoil was so complicated. Even if he did, he probably would not have cared. There were many actresses in the whole entertainment world prettier than Ji Mei, but pitifully few with a better figure than Ji Mei, and Chen Fang just happened to be exactly the type who preferred a great body.

On the other side, at An Tinghan’s home, An Tinghan gazed in a daze, staring fixedly at Chen Fang on the television.

Tong Qin looked utterly helpless.

Was Chen Fang really this devastating to young girls?

Still, it had to be said: when Chen Fang sang, he was unbelievably handsome.

Even she, a woman in her forties, had developed a few other thoughts about him, but only for a few seconds before Tong Qin brushed them away.

A mature woman was more rational.

Besides, the fact that she had not married even after forty-something meant she was not truly interested in men at heart. Even with Tong Qin’s status, it would be easy enough to use her influence on a few male entertainers, yet she had never done such a thing.

Chen Fang was indeed handsome.

But Tong Qin valued the worth he carried even more.

“Tinghan,” she said, “you like Chen Fang?”

Hearing this, An Tinghan’s face immediately flushed red. Just as she was about to deny it, Tong Qin spoke again.

“We’ve worked together for so many years. You don’t need to hide it from me. I’m not going to tell your family.”

An Tinghan was silent for a moment, then nodded. “I like him.”

“You want to be with him?”

“Yes.”

“Your family will not accept him.”

Tong Qin was telling the truth.

An entertainer, bluntly speaking, is just an actor.

In the eyes of the upper class, actors are the most lowly profession of all, perhaps the lowest of any.

Even office drones are ranked above them.

Because office drones are tools for making money.

And tools for making money sometimes need maintenance.

Actors are tools for amusement.

Tools for amusement are only meant to be replaced, never maintained.

If An Tinghan truly wanted to be with Chen Fang, then Chen Fang could not remain merely an entertainer. He would need another identity of sufficient weight, such as becoming the chairman of a major corporation.