enjoyebooks Chapter 127 The Most Familiar Stranger
Chapter 127 The Most Familiar Stranger
Several cool-looking boys also turned their heads, pretending to look at the side of the stage.
Backstage waiting area, the camera pans across—Lin Xiaoya's makeup is ruined by tears, Bai Wei bites her lip to hold back her tears, A Fei is playing with his fingers with his head down, Li Xuan's expression is complicated, and Qin Xiao is leaning against the wall with his eyes closed and his brows slightly furrowed.
Xia Lizhi stood in the waiting area on the other side of the stage, arms crossed, her relaxed expression gone, replaced by seriousness and emotion.
She had expected Wang Bo to produce a work with a grand scope like "Blue Lotus," but she never expected him to choose such a "small song."
It's as small as just those specific people and that burst of laughter.
But it is precisely this "smallness" that accurately strikes at everyone's most private and universal experience of "time"—loss and longing.
Wang Bo sang the last verse repeatedly.
"Oh... I miss her."
Oh... is she still driving it?
Go on!
They have been blown away by the wind.
Scattered to the ends of the earth.
The sound grew fainter and fainter, as if those figures from my memories were truly drifting away with the song, disappearing into the ends of the earth.
The guitar music gradually stopped.
Wang Bo put down his guitar and bowed slightly to the audience.
There was no immediate burst of applause.
A strange silence fell over the scene, as many people were still immersed in a faint but lingering sadness.
Five full seconds passed.
I don't know who started clapping first.
Then, applause spread like a tide, from sporadic to dense, and finally merged into a warm and lasting wave of applause.
Many audience members clapped enthusiastically while wiping their eyes.
When the host, Lin Ling, walked onto the stage, her eyes were a little moist: "Another original song! Wang Bo's song is so heartfelt. Can you talk about the inspiration behind it?"
Wang Bo picked up the microphone, paused for two seconds, and then said softly, "Time has taken away a lot, but it has also left some things behind, such as the laughter in my memory, such as... this song."
As soon as he finished speaking, applause rang out again.
At this point, the online reaction had completely exploded.
On Weibo's trending topics list, #WangBoThoseFlowers# suddenly appeared at number one, followed by the word "Explosive".
The topic square refreshes with hundreds of Weibo posts every second.
"I cried my eyes out in my dorm, and my roommate asked if I'd broken up with my boyfriend. I told her I'd lost my whole youth!"
"Wang Bo, you're not human! You're an emotional harvester! I'm running out of tissues! I don't even use two tissues a whole night with my boyfriend, but I used up half a pack in just a few minutes with you."
"Hearing 'They must be old now, where are they?' immediately broke me down. I called my mom, and she asked if I was short of money..."
"All the polymaths are in tears! Brother Bo, next time you send out razor blades, please give us a heads-up!"
"I'm just a casual observer. I used to think Wang Bo was overhyped, but now... sorry, I was so naive! I could listen to this song on repeat a hundred times!"
Discussion threads on various forums sprang up like mushrooms after rain.
"Can 'Those Flowers' become a classic of the new era in Chinese pop music?"
The original poster commented: "To be fair, the lyrics, music, arrangement, singing, and emotional expression of this song are all of an extremely high standard. It doesn't show off its skills or grandeur, but it is precisely this simple sincerity that is most touching. I think it has the potential to become a classic."
A highly-rated reply read: "Agreed. Good songs don't need to be complicated; sincerity is enough. 'Those Flowers' is such a song."
"Audience reaction: Turns out I wasn't the only one crying like a baby."
The post included several screenshots of audience members breaking down in tears, and was quickly forwarded tens of thousands of times.
My WeChat Moments feed was flooded with posts about it.
A young, artsy person said: "Some songs, you know you're going to cry just from the intro. 'Those Flowers,' thank you, for reminding me of those people scattered across the world."
A music teacher commented: "Teaching case study +1. What does it mean to 'express the most complex emotions with the simplest chords'? Every musician should attend Wang Bo's class."
A senior executive at a company said, "I worked overtime until 10 p.m., and on my way home, I heard this song. I pulled over and cried for ten minutes. It reminded me of the brothers I slept in the office with when we started the business. Now, some of them are worth hundreds of millions, some have gone back to their hometowns, and some... I've lost touch with them. Time flies."
In the viewership monitoring room, the data had already soared to the red line.
"3.1%! It's broken! A new historical high!" the staff member shouted excitedly.
Zhao Zhong let out a long sigh, slumped into his chair, then jumped up abruptly: "Quick! Prepare the press release! The third episode of 'The Voice of China' has broken 3.1% in ratings, setting a new record for music variety shows!"
The program continued to air.
Xia Lizhi's performance paled in comparison to Wang Bo's "tearjerker." Although her original compositions were of extremely high quality, with complex arrangements and impeccable singing skills, showcasing her academic background, and receiving enthusiastic applause at the end of the performance, the audience's emotions were clearly still immersed in the atmosphere of "Those Flowers."
The voting process was a foregone conclusion.
Wang Bo defeated Xia Lizhi with an overwhelming number of votes and advanced directly.
Xia Lizhi entered the loser's bracket, but she appeared very carefree, smiling at the camera and saying, "Losing to a work like this is not unfair."
The program ended with the closing theme song, but the online discussion had only just begun.
In Zhang Lei's apartment in Shanghai.
The television screen had gone dark, but she was still sitting on the sofa, in the same position, for a long time.
On the coffee table, a clip of Wang Bo singing "Those Flowers" was playing on a loop on a tablet computer.
She watched it for the third time before finally pressing pause.
The room was quiet. Zhang Lei picked up her now-cold coffee, took a sip, and felt the bitterness spread across her tongue.
Her feelings were complicated.
As his ex-girlfriend, she knew Wang Bo far better than anyone else—his personality, his habits, the limits of his talent, and even his breadth and depth.
But it is precisely because of this understanding that the sense of unfamiliarity is all the more intense.
What was Wang Bo like in the past?
He's talented, even just a little bit; he can write decent melodies, and he has a good voice.
However, they are timid, lack self-confidence, and need affirmation from others to move forward.
She remembered that every time he finished writing a demo, he would cautiously ask, "Leilei, do you think it's okay?"
She usually only calmly analyzes the advantages and disadvantages, and rarely gives unconditional encouragement.
At that time, Wang Bo's eyes had a light, but that light was veiled by a layer of mist, not bright enough, nor firm enough.
And what about Wang Bo now?
In "The Implied Meaning," he faced the "siege" of three experts with composure, citing classical texts and demonstrating clear logic. His final statement, "You can't talk about ice with a summer insect," was like a resounding slap in the face, leaving his opponents speechless.
That's not something you can achieve by memorizing a script; it's a confident expression that comes from genuine understanding.
On the stage of "The Voice of China", each of his songs was stylistically different, but they all accurately struck a chord with people.
The free cry of "Blue Lotus," the youthful reminiscence of "Travel," the time-traveling memories of "Those Flowers"... these works not only require talent, but also life experience and emotional depth.