Entertainment: A song that brought his deceased wife back to life.

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When the scoreboard showed 99.5, the live chat exploded.

The CPUs of 60 million online viewers all burned out, and the live stream's servers almost met their creator again.

"What kind of monster is this?" "A coloratura soprano, dude, the kind used to shatter chandeliers in opera houses." "Even if all the starting singers were combined, they wouldn't be enough to fill her teeth." "It's over, it's over, whoever challenges is doomed, this episode is going to be a bloodbath."

In the waiting area, the air seemed to freeze solid.

No one speaks.

Lin Bonian's hand, holding the thermos, was still trembling slightly.

He had been singing for thirty years, and this was the first time he had experienced physical discomfort while listening to someone else sing.

It's not that it sounds bad—it's that it's too powerful, so powerful that the human body instinctively wants to run away.

Adam leaned against the corner of the wall, the mineral water bottle silently crushed in his hand.

His gaze was fixed on the other end of the waiting area—Luo Qianyu was squatting on the ground, helping Xu Qing pick up the guitar that had fallen.

Xu Qing's face was still very pale, but her hands were no longer trembling.

He took the guitar, checked the neck, and found no cracks.

The clownfish sticker is still firmly attached to the piano.

"Are you sure you want to go?" Xu Qing looked up at Luo Qianyu.

Luo Qianyu was wiping her hands.

Her palms were sweaty and sticky when she hugged Xu Qing earlier.

"nonsense."

"Your vocal cords—"

"I know what's wrong with my vocal cords," Luo Qianyu interrupted him, her voice hoarse but unusually clear. "You've lost the high notes, but you still have the low notes. You taught yourself that, have you forgotten?"

Xu Qing looked at her.

She knelt in front of him, her hair sticking to her forehead from sweat, the bandage on her right arm still in place, and her eyes showing neither fear nor despair.

There is only one very simple thing.

槓。

It's pure, stubbornness, and a willingness to go against the whole world.

Xu Qing took a folded sheet of music from the violin case and handed it to her.

"I wrote this three days ago. I originally planned to save it for the recording studio, but I'm uploading it ahead of schedule."

Luo Qianyu unfolded the musical score.

Track name - "Quad".

She glanced at the main theme and her pupils suddenly contracted.

The entire song's vocal range is tightly confined to the mid-low range.

The highest note does not exceed A4, and the lowest note reaches E3.

This is a position that a normal female voice could almost never reach.

But in the past two weeks of training, Luo Qianyu has already torn his bass range open by nearly four whole tones.

All those long-distance runs at 5 a.m., underwater training in the pool until their faces turned purple, and the bubble sounds they had to hit the wall seventeen times in the recording studio before they could pass the test—it was all for this moment.

"Where's the arrangement?" Luo Qianyu flipped the sheet music over; it was blank.

"There's no arrangement." Xu Qing pushed the guitar towards her. "You play it yourself."

Luo Qianyu was stunned for two seconds.

"You know how good I am at playing guitar—"

"That's enough." Xu Qing leaned back in his chair, his tone languid. "This song doesn't require you to play it well, it just requires you to play it hard enough."

Luo Qianyu picked up the old guitar and examined it twice.

The clownfish sticker on the instrument shimmered under the light, looking adorably silly.

She took a deep breath—no, she stuffed the sheet music into her pocket, grabbed her guitar, and stood up.

Give me five minutes.

She carried her guitar to a soundproof booth in the corner of the waiting area and closed the door.

Five minutes later, extremely rough strumming sounds and hushed humming came from inside.

He sang off-key three times.

On the fourth attempt, it barely got on track.

The fifth time, it's a sure thing.

The door opened.

Luo Qianyu came out, the strings of her zither covered with flakes of skin from her right fingertips.

"I'm gone."

Xu Qing watched her figure disappear into the passageway leading to the stage.

He didn't follow.

It's not that I don't want to.

He knew that this time, she would have to be alone.

……

Center stage.

When the spotlight shone down, all three thousand people in the audience saw a Luo Qianyu who was completely different from before.

No red dress, no high heels, no elaborate makeup.

She was wearing that hardcore black workwear jacket, Doc Martens, her hair was haphazardly tied into a low ponytail, and she hadn't touched up her foundation.

The light blue gauze on his right arm was particularly striking under the spotlight.

He was holding the old guitar with a clownfish sticker on it.

The screen was instantly flooded with comments.

"What kind of outfit is that? Is she here to cause trouble?" "Sis, did you wander onto the wrong set? The rock night next door is in Studio 3." "Wait, she's going to play guitar herself? Can she even play?"

Luo Qianyu adjusted the guitar strap and hung it on her shoulder.

She didn't wait for the band.

Because there was no band.

She was the only one on the stage.

She held the pick in her right hand, and the veins on the back of her hand bulged slightly.

"Smack."

The first strum was violent and rough.

It wasn't hit by a bullet, it was hit by a smash.

All six strings were swept across by the pick at the same time, producing a buzzing sound that was almost furious.

The entire room fell silent.

That silence wasn't one of anticipation, but of astonishment.

Because this voice doesn't match any of Luo Qianyu's previous stage personas.

The second strum.

The third time.

The rhythm is set on an extremely slow four-beat beat, each beat so heavy it could leave a dent.

Low-frequency vibrations rolled out of the stage speakers, crushing the knees of the first three rows of audience members.

Then she spoke.

"Those stuck in the mud don't need wings—"

Her voice was hoarse.

The rough texture of scraping sheet metal with sandpaper.

His throat was hoarse from being cut by a razor blade.

It has the characteristic, unstable, and potentially fragile quality of someone who forces themselves to speak when their vocal cords haven't fully healed.

But she sang very heavily.

It sank to the Earth's core.

Each word was pushed out from the very bottom of the chest, so heavy it could press a person into a seat.

What's needed is a pair of hands covered in mud—

The style of the comments suddenly changed.

"Holy crap?" "What's with that voice?" "Wait, wasn't her voice ruined? How come her voice is so low..." "Quiet! Everyone shut the fuck up!"

After the verse ends, the chorus begins.

The guitar strumming became denser.

Luo Qianyu began to exert force with her right hand, tearing the plectrum back and forth on the strings, causing the metal strings to vibrate and emit a hissing noise.

Her fingertips were already marked with red marks from the strings, but her hands did not stop.

There are no high notes in the chorus.

not a single one.

She suppressed all her emotions into her low-to-mid range, drawing out each syllable from the depths of her throat in an almost screaming manner.

"I don't need you to pull me out of this—"

"I'll climb it myself!"

The moment she uttered the word "climb," her right hand suddenly swept out with great force.

All six strings exploded simultaneously.

The sound waves struck the hearts of the three thousand people in the audience like a muffled punch.

On the judges' panel, Fang Hong gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

He has been listening to songs for thirty years.

This was the first time he had heard such devastating power in a performance by someone who "couldn't even play the guitar very well."

The second verse.

Luo Qianyu's voice began to tremble slightly.

It's not a technological lapse.

My body is nearing its limit.

The swelling in her vocal cords has not completely subsided, and every low note is pushing back her recovery progress.

But she didn't stop.

"The swamp is not hell—"

"The swamp is the only place where I can stand firm—"

When she sang the word "stand firm," her voice cracked.

It truly cracked.

Air wafted out from the torn gap, carrying the smell of blood, and mixed with the sound waves.

The audience was silent.

The last note.

Luo Qianyu stopped strumming her instrument.

She tossed the guitar to her side, and the body of the guitar hit the microphone stand with a crisp sound.

Then, with her extremely broken voice, she sang the last line a cappella.

There was no accompaniment, and no embellishment.

"I am alive—"

That's enough.

Two words.

The sound was so soft it almost disappeared into the air.

But all three thousand people heard it clearly.

There was a seven-second silence.

Then a man in the far corner on the first floor stood up with a loud thud, clapping his hands.

What followed was a chain reaction of collapses in entire rows, entire areas, and entire stadiums.

The applause and sobs mingled together, making the ceiling lights shake twice.

The ratings are displayed.

98.8.

0.7 points difference.

We didn't win.

But the comments section was already buzzing.

"A glorious defeat!" "This is what they call a glorious defeat? This is called using your body to withstand a nuclear bomb!" "I cried, I really cried! Her hands were covered in blood, did you see that?!" "Luo Qianyu, I was wrong! I called you a sweet girl before, I'm so sorry, so sorry, so sorry!"

Waiting area.

Chen Che sat on the piano bench, his fingers still resting on the keys, motionless.

He watched the close-up shot on the big screen of Luo Qianyu's hands covered in blood. The light white mark on her left ring finger looked like it had been burned by something, and it was faintly hot.

He closed his eyes.

The last row of the audience seats.

Adam slowly stood up and began to clap.

His palms were clapping until they were red.

The older woman next to him was startled: "Hey young man, take it easy—"

Adam ignored her.

He looked at the disheveled girl on the stage, whose fingers were dripping blood, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly.

It was very light and shallow, but I truly admire it.