Chapter 50: Let Them Bark as They Wish!

After having lunch at Wu Chaoyang’s house, Gallen and Chen Yingying prepared to walk home together.

In truth, it was a long way, but Chen Yingying insisted on walking for a bit of exercise and said they could hail a cab when they got tired.

On the way, Chen Yingying kept her head down, seemingly lost in thought.

Gallen couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you worried about school?”

“No,” Chen Yingying shook her head, “I just suddenly realized that if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have all these opportunities.”

“Is that so?” Gallen said smugly, “Then how do you plan to thank me?”

“How do you want me to thank you?” Chen Yingying giggled, then spun around to walk backward and linked arms with Gallen to keep from falling.

Gallen put on a serious face. “By promising yourself to me! What else?”

“Oh, please!” Chen Yingying stuck out her tongue. “Keep dreaming!”

“Hey! Didn’t you just promise me at home just now? Tonight…” Gallen grinned mischievously.

“Promise what? I meant tonight’s out of the question too! Ha!” Chen Yingying laughed, slipped out of his grasp, and ran ahead.

Gallen pretended to be struck by a sudden realization. “Alright then! So you’re playing with me!”

He immediately gave chase, and the two of them ran and jumped along the way.

…

The third afternoon of Golden Week.

At the Blueberry Music Festival.

Gallen was performing the opening set. The sun was blazing, and there were hardly any spectators yet. Those who had arrived were lounging under sun umbrellas.

The Blueberry Music Festival had been held for over ten years, unlike the Ideal Music Festival, which was only in its second year. The Blueberry organizers, thus, had more confidence, and the event had become a habitual gathering place for outdoor music lovers.

At one o’clock sharp, the stage was set. Gallen and his band glanced at the sparse audience—hardly more than could be counted on two hands. But nothing could be done; this was how things were arranged, and it wasn’t as if he was popular enough to draw crowds.

He turned to Akai and said, “Let’s start.”

The first song was “What I Miss,” a slow ballad. Given the circumstances, there was no point trying to hype up the audience with rock; with so few people, why not just sing something lyrical?

As soon as Gallen began singing, many in the crowd turned their heads. Still, no one approached the stage; they just sat, leaned, or lay down listening.

He followed with “Betrayal,” “You Once,” and “Those Flowers.” Only then did the audience gradually grow, but even so, they barely numbered a hundred—nothing like the turnout at the Ideal Music Festival. Gallen had originally planned to perform “One Night in Beijing” with Chen Yingying again, but seeing the situation, he decided against it and stuck to slow ballads throughout.

Half an hour passed quickly. Gallen ended with, “Thank you, everyone! My name is Gallen! Goodbye!” and left the stage.

Meanwhile, the organizers were displeased.

“So that’s Gallen? The so-called genius who got the whole crowd going at the Ideal Festival the other day?” the manager grumbled.

An employee chimed in, “I heard he played a lot of rock there. What’s up with him today? Does he look down on our Blueberry Festival?”

Another tried to defend Gallen. “Maybe it’s just that the crowd is too small? We didn’t really communicate with him either…”

The manager snorted, “Still, he could have played at least one rock song! If all he does is ballads, he might as well do street performances. Why come to a music festival? Whatever his performance fee, cut it in half!”

At once, everyone fell silent and looked at each other—no one knew what Gallen’s fee was.

Finally, all eyes turned to the manager’s secretary, who was in charge of the festival’s finances. She thought for a moment and whispered, “I think he’s playing for free. Yida sent him over as a complimentary act.”

“Heh! No wonder—you get what you pay for!” the manager sneered, his anger replaced by contempt.

But the next moment, an employee exclaimed, “Hey? The internet’s full of news about Gallen’s performance at the Ideal Music Festival!”

Someone else added, “But there are people criticizing him too!”

“What?” Everyone pulled out their phones to check social media, the manager included.

At that moment, Gallen’s “Peking Opera Rock” performance at the Ideal Festival was once again making waves online. This time, it wasn’t due to Yida hiring online promoters, but because the Ideal Festival’s organizers had started a topic on social media, inviting attendees to name their favorite musicians and performances.

Many who had been there on the first afternoon uploaded their own videos, with “One Night in Beijing” proving the most popular. As the topic gained traction, even netizens who hadn’t attended joined in after watching the videos.

Gallen and his “Peking Opera Rock” quickly shot to the trending topics list.

“Genius! We barely finished digesting his last pop-rap style, and now he’s created ‘Peking Opera Rock.’ What’s next? Who can predict?”

“My dad loves Peking Opera. I wonder what he’d think if he heard this! (snicker)”

“How many musicians have the guts to play like this?”

“Who’s the girl singing the opera part? Any clear videos?”

…

But with praise comes criticism.

The first to jump in was Liu Pengfei.

After his argument with Gallen the other day, Liu had been annoyed. Add to that being booed by the audience and failing negotiations with the Ideal organizers, costing him money and reputation, he was left with a grudge against the event.

Peking Opera Rock? Pop-rap? Musical innovation?

Liu Pengfei was convinced Gallen was just a hack, blending two existing genres and pretending it was something new—nothing to brag about.

He immediately used his verified account to post: “Gallen, you clown! What nonsense is ‘Peking Opera Rock’? It’s an insult to our national heritage and a desecration of rock! Get out of showbiz!”

The post caused an uproar. The fans of Sparrow Legend were still numerous, and a war of words broke out.

“Feifei posted! And he’s directly calling out Gallen?”

“Looks like Teacher Liu doesn’t buy into Gallen’s so-called new music style!”

“Gallen’s garbage! Disgrace to music! Disrespecting our national art!”

Liu Pengfei, pleased with the reaction, used a secondary account to stir things up: “Yes! We must resist Gallen! We can’t let him insult the intelligence of the public with his cheap tricks!”

“Resist! Resist the hacks!”

“Resist Gallen!”

…

With Gallen’s rising popularity, his social media followers had surpassed 280,000. Some had followed from the start, some joined along the way, and some were just casual listeners who liked a particular song.

Regardless, when they saw Liu Pengfei’s post, they stepped up to challenge him.

“Liu Pengfei, as a public figure, is it appropriate for you to publicly insult a newcomer to your own industry?”

“Is Liu Pengfei drunk? He dares say that openly?”

“Screw you, Liu, you idiot!”

“Isn’t Sparrow Legend calling themselves the ‘leaders of folk-rock’? Isn’t your so-called new music also just mixing genres? Does your lousy DJ stuff count as rock? All we hear in the town square is your music—makes us want to puke!”

Seeing the backlash, Liu Pengfei lost his temper and posted again: “Those defending Gallen, what’s wrong with your brains? My music is loved by everyone, from migrant workers to retirees. Are you insulting their tastes? Insulting the working class?”

Now, the debate escalated to the level of social commentary.

The media, always ready for a story, were delighted—tomorrow’s headlines were guaranteed, whether for the entertainment or society pages.

Meanwhile, Gallen was unaware of the online uproar.

After his set at the Blueberry Festival, he went straight home. Chen Yingying had done her makeup to join him on stage, but it ended up unnecessary.

As Chen Yingying was removing her makeup, Gallen received a call from Liu Nan.

“Hey, Nan! Something up?”

“Of course!” Liu Nan sounded anxious. “Aren’t you even a bit worried? Haven’t you seen the news online?”

“What news?” Gallen asked, puzzled. “Good news or bad?”

He already had a vague sense it couldn’t be good, otherwise Liu Nan wouldn’t sound so urgent. Still, he wondered what could possibly make Liu Nan so anxious.

“Check your social media! But let me warn you first: think before you say anything, use your head, and remember your image as an artist!”

Liu Nan’s warning left Gallen even more confused, but he promised to keep it in mind.

Before hanging up, Liu Nan added, “How’s my song coming along?”

Then he chuckled, “No rush, no rush. My new album isn’t coming out until August anyway!”

“Heh, I know,” Gallen laughed.

After hanging up, Gallen opened his social media app.

As soon as he logged on, his phone buzzed non-stop, notification numbers climbing rapidly.

When he checked, he saw countless mentions, private messages—some encouraging him, some praising, some cursing, some threatening, some offering comfort.

He was baffled at first, but after sorting through the messages, he traced the origin of it all—Liu Pengfei’s posts.

After reading Liu Pengfei’s two posts, Gallen didn’t get angry. Instead, he couldn’t help but laugh.

After thinking it over, he posted: “Walk your own path, and let the dogs bark as they will.”