After Amnesia, I Learn I'm a Scumbag Top?! - Chapter 53
Chapter 53
A week later, half an hour before the live broadcast of the talent show finals, Pei Ji was waiting backstage when he felt someone tap his shoulder.
He turned to see An Zhu.
Amid the bustle of the backstage area, An Zhu leaned closer, raising her voice anxiously, “Are you sure you can sing this song? How confident are you?”
Pei Ji had heard this question from An Zhu at least ten times already. Ever since learning that the Program Group had assigned him Star Orbit, An Zhu had been pestering him daily, her “disbelief” and “worry” practically written on her face.
Pei Ji frowned, amused. “Why are you so worried?”
An Zhu hesitated before finally murmuring, “Because everyone says it’s an incredibly difficult song to sing. Even my brother wouldn’t dare attempt it lightly.”
Meanwhile, Qiao He, also sweating bullets for Pei Ji, looked even more anxious than Pei Ji himself. He added, “Besides, this song is Queen Li Xiwen’s signature hit, and today happens to be her birthday. Although Teacher Li passed away ten years ago, her songs are still revered as classics, and no one has ever managed to challenge her legendary status in the music industry.”
As Qiao He had said, “Star Orbit” was the breakthrough hit that catapulted Queen Li Xiwen to fame. At just twenty years old, she conquered the music scene, sweeping all major awards. The song itself became a cultural phenomenon, hailed as a timeless classic.
Tragically, fate dealt her a cruel hand. Just a few years after her meteoric rise, Li Xiwen was forced to retire due to health issues. After enduring decades of illness, she passed away ten years ago at the young age of forty-three.
Her fans were devastated by the news, lamenting heaven’s cruelty, mourning the fall of a genius, and grieving the short life of a radiant beauty.
Perhaps because of Li Xiwen’s brief but dazzlingly legendary life, the already formidable challenge of covering her songs became even more daunting.
Fans held cover artists to impossibly high standards, demanding both emotional depth and technical perfection. Any flaw, no matter how minor, would subject the performer to merciless criticism. Over time, Li Xiwen’s songs became like a bright moon hanging high in the sky—something to be revered from afar, untouchable and untouching.
Pei Ji understood these risks all too well, but his current predicament left him in a bind. Performing risked scathing criticism, while withdrawing would invite accusations of cowardice.
After careful consideration, he concluded that facing the criticism was the lesser of two evils.
Singing well is a matter of skill, but taking the stage is a matter of mindset. He wasn’t so fragile or cowardly as to desert his post.
Besides, he didn’t believe he was completely incapable. After all, back in college, he had performed a Li Xiwen song for a midterm exam in an elective course.
At the time, his teacher had praised his performance effusively, even remarking that the moment Pei Ji opened his mouth, she felt like she was seeing Li Xiwen’s shadow.
After class, the teacher had kept him behind specifically to ask, with an air of mystery, whether anyone in his family worked in music and which musical heavyweight his elder relatives were.
Pei Ji could only smile awkwardly and truthfully answer no.
But the teacher refused to believe him, assuming he was hiding something. She teased him for being dishonest, insisting that a voice as exceptional as his—one in a million—could never come from an ordinary family.
Snapping back to reality, Pei Ji noticed An Zhu opening and closing her mouth. After a long hesitation, she stammered, “So… so… how… how confident are you?”
Through her face, even uglier than a bitter melon, Pei Ji could guess her unspoken truth.
Though An Zhu didn’t say it aloud, she was likely already planning damage control strategies for when his performance inevitably fell short.
Not wanting to overstate his confidence, Pei Ji thought for a moment and humbly replied, “About sixty percent, I’d say.”
Saying “too high” would raise expectations too much, but saying “too low” might worry An Zhu. So Pei Ji settled on a moderate figure, hoping to strike a balance.
Little did he expect An Zhu’s eyes to widen abruptly. After a moment of stunned silence, she immediately rushed to call the public relations team she had already assembled.
Pei Ji: “……”
Queen Li’s fans aren’t man-eating tigers, are they? Are they really that terrifying?
—Terrifying.
—Extremely terrifying.
—Unimaginably terrifying.
An Zhu had thought she was mentally prepared, anticipating that countless Li Xiwen fans would swarm in the moment Pei Ji performed “Star Orbit,” scrutinizing every note.
But the moment the host announced the song title, she realized her preparations had been woefully inadequate.
Earlier, the livestream chat had been a battleground for trainee fanbases, with the screen filled with a chaotic mix of support messages. But the instant Pei Ji appeared, all the support messages vanished instantly, replaced by an overwhelming flood of Li Xiwen fans’ critiques of Pei Ji. Stream after stream of comments, too numerous to count, crashed like a tidal wave, swallowing the livestream’s visual feed.
??????
Star Orbit??? Did I hear that right?
When those gossip blogs broke this story a few days ago, I thought they were just trying to ride Queen Li’s coattails. Didn’t pay it any mind. Who knew the Program Group would actually go through with it?
The Program Group is really pulling out all the stops for buzz, huh? It’s been ages since anyone dared to cover Li Xiwen’s songs on a big stage. With her fans being so notoriously fierce, letting Pei Ji sing one of her songs is practically begging for trouble!
This song choice is beyond reckless—it’s like the Program Group and Pei Ji have both lost their minds. Out of all the songs he could’ve picked, he had to choose Li Xiwen’s signature hit? That’s hell-level difficulty! Is Pei Ji’s manager watching the live broadcast? He needs to hire the best PR team immediately, or Pei Ji’s career is toast.
What gave him the audacity to cover my goddess’s song? We fans may be old, but we’re not senile. If he dares to ruin my white moonlight, Star Orbit, I’ll haunt him for life!
Oh God… my Star Orbit…
Wait, is that a piano on stage? Is Pei Ji actually going to imitate the music video and sing while playing, just like my goddess did? Does he even have the skill for that?!
At that moment, Pei Ji had already taken the stage and settled at the piano.
A white spotlight converged above him, casting a dazzling glow.
The audience, who had been whispering amongst themselves just moments before, instantly fell silent, holding their breath in anticipation of his performance.
The bullet comments in the live stream also slowed, gradually dwindling in volume until they faded into stillness.
Pei Ji didn’t rush to begin. Instead, he placed his hands on the keys and played a few opening notes.
Under the stark white light, the bones of his fingers stood out with crystalline clarity, as if carved from white jade.
Pei Ji had subtly rearranged Star Orbit, adding a piano solo at the beginning that harmonized with the original rhythm without altering its tempo.
Both the live audience and Li Xiwen’s fans watching the livestream were already emotionally charged, convinced he would ruin the song before he even began to sing.
His immediate task was to quiet their minds, urging them to set aside their prejudices and listen to the song in its entirety.
As it turned out, Pei Ji’s approach proved remarkably effective. The live venue fell into complete silence, and the chaotic barrage of comments in the livestream vanished. Everyone focused intently on his performance, waiting for him to begin singing.
After another musical interlude, Pei Ji finally sang the first line of lyrics. His voice was both gentle and powerful, clear and bright, like a divine being chanting.
Each syllable that flowed from his lips was like a glittering star from the heavens merging into the serene flow of the Milky Way.
The stage lights shifted from a sacred white to a warm yellow, as the spotlight gradually moved away from Pei Ji, panning upward and outward to illuminate the entire stage. Simultaneously, the orchestral music swelled, gradually building the song to its crescendo.
Pei Ji pressed down on the piano keys a few more times, the melody soaring higher until it reached its peak. He then grabbed the microphone and strode to the center of the stage, delivering the most challenging and emotionally charged high note of the entire song.
His voice pierced through the air with remarkable clarity, like a beam of sunlight piercing through dense fog to illuminate the earth below.
As the melody gradually subsided and the song neared its conclusion, Pei Ji returned to the piano and lightly played a few final notes, signaling the perfect conclusion of the performance.
The audience remained stunned, unable to snap out of their reverie. The camera panned across the auditorium, capturing the expressions of awe and astonishment on every face.
Even several minutes after he left the stage, the audience remained spellbound. Only then did they sluggishly return to reality, erupting in thunderous applause that echoed long after the lights dimmed.
The live stream chat room’s comments underwent a complete reversal:
Just a humble opinion, but Pei Ji’s singing was actually quite good…
The moment he opened his mouth, it was like dawn breaking.
I never expected this arrangement! It’s not drastically different, but it’s definitely more suited for a live performance than the original.
I’ll preface this by saying that Pei Ji’s rendition of Queen Li’s song is, in my opinion, the best cover I’ve heard in years. From emotional depth to technical skill, it’s virtually flawless. There’s really nothing to criticize.
Actually, I’ve always thought Pei Ji looks a bit like Li Xiwen from certain angles, especially his eyes. They’re practically twins, both with stunning peach blossom eyes, though Pei Ji’s look a bit more masculine.
Wow… I’m not the only one who thinks so! Personally, I feel not just their appearance, but even their voices are strikingly similar. Isn’t the reason no one’s been able to successfully cover Teacher Li’s songs for years precisely because no one can match her crystal-clear, luminous voice?
Li Xiwen’s voice has no substitute online, which is why everyone misses her so much. I never imagined that after all these years, someone with a voice of similar quality would emerge in the entertainment industry. Pei Ji is truly blessed by heaven!
It’s not just the eyes, though. Don’t you think his nose and mouth also bear a resemblance? Li Xiwen’s shadow seems to linger everywhere in his features. Even Li Xiwen herself couldn’t have given birth to someone who looked this much like her!
If I didn’t know Li Xiwen was childless, I’d almost suspect Pei Ji was her son, abandoned to the mortal realm…
Wait, didn’t everyone online claim she secretly married the renowned director Liang Wangqiu and had a kid years ago? If that’s true, her son would be around twenty-five or twenty-six by now, right?
At that very moment, Liang Wangqiu, the renowned director mentioned in the live comments, was seated in the audience.
Ordinarily, a prestigious filmmaker like him wouldn’t attend a talent show. But this occasion was exceptional—Chu Tinghan had personally invited him.
The two men weren’t sitting in the VIP section; they were disguised among the regular audience.
Chu Tinghan hadn’t invited Liang Wangqiu to watch the performance; his true motive was to recommend Pei Ji to him.
Two weeks prior, Liang Wangqiu had approached Chu Tinghan, seeking him to sing the theme song for his new blockbuster film.
Liang Wangqiu’s films were always highly anticipated blockbusters. This was the kind of opportunity others would kill for, yet Chu Tinghan had surprisingly declined.
Liang Wangqiu had been somewhat angered, assuming Chu Tinghan had let his rising fame go to his head and was putting on airs.
But Chu Tinghan explained to him that he dared not accept the offer simply because, in his heart, there was someone better suited for the role—Pei Ji.
Liang Wangqiu’s new film was a coming-of-age story, and its theme song needed to capture the protagonist’s spirit—full of youthful vigor despite enduring hardship and setbacks.
However, Chu Tinghan had been weighed down by recent troubles and years of setbacks, making it impossible for him to recapture that spirited energy.
Not wanting to disappoint Director Liang, he thought of Pei Ji, whose career was still on the rise and whose memories were frozen in the past few years.
Seeing Liang Wangqiu deep in thought, Chu Tinghan sensed a flicker of appreciation for Pei Ji. He seized the opportunity, pressing, “Director Liang, he’s the singer I mentioned earlier—Pei Ji. What do you think of him?”
Liang Wangqiu didn’t answer immediately, his eyes churning with complex emotions.
The resemblance was uncanny.
If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed he could find the shadow of his beloved in a complete stranger.
After a long silence, he suddenly turned and asked solemnly, “Can you arrange for me to meet him?”