Chapter 53: The War of Words Escalates!

Garen and Chen Yingying returned from the banquet, both in high spirits along the way. At last, there was real progress with her studies, which meant Chen Yingying no longer had to return to her hometown for further lessons—she could stay in the capital this year. The thought that she could remain, that they could be together—perhaps even live under the same roof—filled Garen with uncontainable joy and hope for the days ahead.

Chen Yingying, too, finally let go of all her previous anxieties, repeatedly expressing how wonderful she thought Jin Chanjuan was. Naturally, Garen had no intention of telling her about the gift he’d given; after all, that was a shadowy side of society he hoped she would never have to deal with, wishing for her to stay innocent and untainted by such things.

While Chen Yingying showered, Garen opened his second-hand laptop. He began searching for songs for his upcoming album and, in passing, browsed amusing tidbits from the other world. Suddenly, a poem—a classical verse—caught his eye, instantly captivating him.

Reading through the meaning of the poem, he felt a deep resonance. Wasn’t this exactly how he felt at this very moment? Though still young and possessing a certain childlike spirit essential to any musician, the trials and hardships of recent years had left his heart worlds apart from his peers.

Without hesitation, he copied the poem into his phone and posted it directly to Weibo.

All afternoon, countless users online had been waiting, eyes glued to their screens, hoping for Garen’s response—a counterattack, perhaps. But he was nowhere to be seen. Now, as soon as his post appeared, everyone paying attention to the incident flocked to it.

What’s this?

Everyone was surprised, puzzled by the meaning of the poem.

“‘Song of the Ugly Slave – A Youth Knows Nothing of Sorrow’

A youth knows nothing of sorrow’s taste, loves to climb high. Loves to climb high, and for the sake of composing new verses, feigns sorrow. Now I know sorrow all too well, wish to speak but refrain. Wish to speak but refrain, and simply say, ‘What a cool, fine autumn.’”

Almost everyone read and reread the poem, line by line, yet few fully understood it—though they grasped the general idea. In truth, the poem was relatively straightforward; any student of the humanities could translate it, and many such students promptly did so with a touch of superiority:

“When young, I knew not the taste of sorrow, and loved to gaze afar from high places. I did so, and to write new verses, forced myself to speak of sorrows I did not know. Now that I have tasted all the bitterness of sorrow, I wish to speak but cannot. I wish to speak but cannot, and simply remark on the chill of autumn.”

But even after reading this translation, most were still at a loss—what did this have to do with the ongoing Weibo argument?

Some speculated:

“Maybe he’s expressing his state of mind? Is Garen troubled now?”

“No way—didn’t the poem say he wants to speak but can’t? Is there something he can’t say?”

“Is there some hidden story here?”

“Exactly! With all those big names in the entertainment industry lining up to criticize him, there must be pressure!”

“Give him a break! Garen’s innocent!”

Others were less charitable:

“Isn’t this just posturing?”

“Haha, what kind of nonsense is this? Repeats the same line twice—what, padding out an essay for length?”

“Sigh, that’s it? The argument’s no fun anymore!”

“After all that buildup, this is all he’s got? Hmph, so much for the ‘talented young singer’…”

When Garen’s Weibo post went up, many in show business were watching—both his supporters and his rivals.

Yu Changjian saw it and sneered to himself but did not respond online.

Liu Pengfei saw it, and though he didn’t understand the meaning, his naturally suspicious mind made him think Garen was plotting against him again! But how? With a poem?

The organizer of the Blueberry Music Festival read it, shook his head, and muttered, “Why the flowery words?”

Huang Daming read it and posted, “Being a literary snob is a sickness—it needs to be cured! Otherwise, no one will ever speak plainly!”

Liu Nan saw this post from Huang Daming and, frowning, felt a rare sense of discomfort—for years he’d always been the good guy. He immediately logged in to Weibo, which he hadn’t visited in years, and criticized directly: “Huang Daming! Just shut up—no one will think you’re mute if you say nothing!”

Wow—

It had been three years since Liu Nan’s last Weibo post.

No one expected that Liu Nan would stand up and speak, and even less that he’d turn his ire directly on Huang Daming! One was a king of the music world, the other a king of the film world. Liu Nan, a twenty-five-year veteran known for his kindness, beloved by fans old and young nationwide. Huang Daming, a ten-year idol with a vast network and considerable influence.

Many celebrities were stunned. Unlike their earlier ridicule of Zhang Weiwei, now they were at a loss—whom should they support? It was a real dilemma.

Yu Changjian, seeing Liu Nan’s post, frowned deeply and commented under it, “Brother Nan, what are you getting at?”

“Shut up! Go back to teaching your classes and stop embarrassing yourself here!”

Liu Nan’s retort left all netizens dumbfounded.

Was this really the Liu Nan they knew? Could his account have been hacked?

For a while, Liu Nan’s phone rang nonstop as people tried to verify the truth.

Ignoring them, Liu Nan quickly posted again, this time including a photo of himself and Garen taken at the Ideal Music Festival, with a simple caption: “I support you!”

Netizens were utterly speechless now, and the comments on Liu Nan’s post soared—ten thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand…

Meanwhile, Garen’s earlier poem was largely ignored, its own comment count barely crawling past ten thousand before growth slowed.

Elsewhere, Wang Kai returned home, cheerfully telling his wife Jin Chanjuan, “Those two young people today—pretty impressive!”

“Indeed! And look how much they gave!” Jin Chanjuan held up two fingers.

Wang Kai was stunned, taking a moment to process. “That much?”

“Yes! Very thoughtful!” Jin Chanjuan hummed a little tune, happily heading upstairs.

But Wang Kai felt uneasy. He thought highly of Garen; if only they’d met earlier, there’d have been no need for such a gift. Besides, the sum was too generous—he couldn’t accept it with a clear conscience.

He knew his wife well; once money was in her hands, there was no getting it back. He resolved he must do something.

With that, Wang Kai sat down earnestly at his computer, opened his Weibo, and poured his feelings into a long post:

“By chance I heard Garen’s ‘Fleeting Fireworks.’ The melody is steeped in antiquity, haunting and beautiful. Simple guitar and piano intertwine, resonating with a chill that shakes the soul.

The lyrics come from a fictional tale in Yang Xianzhi’s ‘Records of the Buddhist Temples of Luoyang,’ set in the ancient capital. A general meets a maiden by fate, and they fall in love at first sight, pledging themselves to each other. Yet the general is summoned to the frontier, leaving Luoyang in ruins amid years of war. The woman waits in vain, eventually becoming a nun.

When at last the battle-worn general returns, he seeks her at the ancient temple, only to learn she has passed. The villagers tell him, ‘There was always a woman waiting here for you.’

History’s changes are relentless, the rise and fall of fortune unpredictable. Listening to this song, images arise unbidden: pagodas standing tall, vanishing in an instant; blades flashing, the world transformed…”

Wang Kai wrote more than seven hundred words of reflections and commentary. Many of his students, following his Weibo, saw it immediately and shared it widely.

Garen’s fans, upon discovering this long post, were amazed: “Even a professor at the Central Academy of Drama is speaking up for Garen?”

“Haha! At last, a respected academic is weighing in!”

“Some people said his lyrics were just a jumble of empty words, but it turns out Garen’s lyrics are all rooted in real stories?”

“As a drama literature grad, I can confirm ‘Records of the Buddhist Temples’ was required reading in second year. Listening to ‘Fleeting Fireworks’ and recalling that story, I teared up!”

“Such an obscure tale, and Garen adapted it for his lyrics? What a genius!”

“Professors really do make a difference!”

“Let me tell you: Professor Wang is a master’s supervisor in the musical theatre department, while that Yu Changjian is only a vocal instructor for undergrads, just promoted to associate professor last year. Professor Wang’s been qualified for nearly a decade and is up for a full professorship soon!”

“Huayin just can’t compare to the Central Academy!”

“Applause for Professor Wang! Bravo for Garen!”

After Garen’s Weibo post, he was stunned to see over ten thousand comments within half an hour. Skimming the replies, he saw both praise and criticism—some scolded him for posting such a message, asking if he was running scared.

Cowardly?

He thought back to the afternoon’s online battle. Was it still raging? Checking his followers, he was even more shocked—over 1.2 million now, all in just one afternoon! He’d never gained so many fans just by singing or releasing music, but after one quarrel, he was suddenly famous?

Ridiculous!

Garen glanced through the posts criticizing him, from Yu Changjian to Wang Kai, then shared Wang Kai’s post and expressed his gratitude.

Yet the more he thought about it, the more infuriated he became.

Damn it! In the short time he’d ignored Weibo, so many had come out of the woodwork to insult him. Outrageous!

A gentleman may die, but never be humiliated!

He couldn’t swallow this insult. Immediately, he began typing furiously on Weibo.

Time to settle the score, starting with Yu Changjian!

Ten minutes later, Garen posted a fresh update.

Everyone rushed to see what he’d say, eyes widening in disbelief at his words.

Garen’s retort was as follows:

“I respect those experts and professors who are truly dedicated to their fields—they are real scholars, sages in my eyes. What I despise are those fake experts hiding behind the title of professor, contributing nothing of value, yet always ready with idle gossip. Study the classics, act with virtue—do you truly not understand? Having become a professor, yet not knowing benevolence, righteousness, propriety, wisdom, and trust—must a singer teach you this? Is it not shameful? Professing your title everywhere, spewing nonsense all day in showbiz circles, wanting to play both the expert and the moral paragon: a snake winding around a gourd, pretending to be a dragon clutching a pearl.”

Not a single vulgar word, yet every sentence was cutting, leaving the masses astonished.

Was this really the same refined, literary Garen from earlier?

This was like pouring oil on a raging fire.

The Weibo war escalated once more.