Chapter 62: Misfortune Hides Fortune (Part 3)

P.S. Thank you to the readers who tipped: Shao De Fafang Weiwu and Meng Shi Youming!

“Luo Luo, even the Japanese Prime Minister has retweeted your video!” Wen Xia, after browsing online for hours, stumbled upon an astonishing message.

“Really?” Luo Quan opened her phone and searched—it was true; the Prime Minister had not only retweeted it but also added a comment:

“This is a demonstration of conscience by a Japanese singer. The courage and inspiration in this song will surely help us overcome this crisis!”

Below the Prime Minister’s tweet, officials and media outlets flooded in to echo and retweet it; normally, Japanese citizens loved to joke about the Prime Minister in the comments, but this time, they genuinely felt he had done something truly great.

Soon, the keyword “Don’t Give Up” topped all websites and forums as trending headlines, and under the government’s deliberate promotion, the song was entering every possible channel into the public consciousness.

At this critical juncture, just before an economic recession, the Japanese government had no shortage of ways to rescue its plummeting stock market—it could simply inject funds or adjust policies; fiscal deficits weren’t new to them.

But public morale was the hardest thing to adjust; unless you handed out a million yen to every citizen as welfare, no amount of appeals could lift national spirits in such a bleak social climate.

At this moment, something spiritual was needed to inspire and give hope to the Japanese people—and Luo Quan’s newly released song arrived like a timely rain for the government.

Promoting a song cost the government virtually nothing—just a single statement—but the returns were incalculable.

Of course, all this rested on the song being worthy of such promotion—and “Don’t Give Up” was more than qualified.

All media understood the government’s intent and thus joined the promotional campaign, whether willingly or reluctantly.

Beyond the media, Japan’s national radio began looping “Don’t Give Up” tonight, and after each play, it urged citizens to trust the government and maintain hope for the future.

The biggest promoters, however, were Japan’s mobile telecom providers; the major carriers simultaneously sent SMS messages to users, urging them to listen to tonight’s radio broadcast or watch the video online.

Beyond television, Japan was using every possible channel to promote this song—such lavish treatment had never been granted to any star since Japan’s founding.

Television promotion wouldn’t be far behind; related ads could air as early as tomorrow, and then it would truly become household knowledge.

“You don’t seem surprised at all?” Wen Xia, herself thrilled, noticed Luo Quan’s calm expression. “This is the Japanese government actively promoting you—full coverage across the internet, radio, and telecom! I’ve never seen anything like this in my life!”

Luo Quan merely smiled, saying nothing.

She had already anticipated this outcome the moment she decided to release the song.

“Don’t Give Up” was a legendary song in Japan’s past, performed by the equally legendary singer Izumi Sakai.

During Japan’s “Lost Two Decades,” Sakai Izumi used this song to inspire countless citizens, helping them overcome despair caused by economic crisis, earning her the title “The Soundtrack of an Era!”

The song was once dubbed Japan’s second national anthem, repeatedly included in school textbooks, until “Yi Zhi Hua” emerged and took over the title.

Though its sales weren’t record-breaking and its composition wasn’t masterfully brilliant, its social symbolism far surpassed its musical and commercial value.

“Theme Song for the Lost Decades,” “Recovery Anthem for the Tohoku Earthquake Zone,” “Japan’s Olympic Team Anthem for the 2010 Winter Games”… each title proved its undisputed status as the King of Anthems.

One Japanese citizen once said: no matter what hardship you face, hearing Sakai Izumi’s “Don’t Give Up” instantly fills you with strength!

That wasn’t an exaggeration—back then, this song would trigger spontaneous mass singalongs wherever it played.

So when Luo Quan wanted to do something as a singer, this was the first song she thought of.

On the other hand, it was also because her stage name resembled Sakai Izai’s.

Whether by coincidence or not, Luo Quan’s former nickname was Izumi—meaning “spring”—and Sakai Izumi’s full romanized name was Sakai Izumi.

Perhaps all these coincidences were meant to let her, using the name “Izumi,” sing “Don’t Give Up” again in this other world.

As for the donations, that was merely a spontaneous impulse.

She wasn’t a bodhisattva, nor was she seeking fame—she simply wanted to give part of the money to those who needed it.

Luo Quan had always felt she was a singer, not a gifted creator; releasing good songs felt satisfying, but all these overly effusive praises sometimes made her blush.

Doing this was, in a way, paying for peace of mind.

“Regardless, I’ve done something good,” Luo Quan murmured, gazing at the ceiling.

“Something good? It’s more than that—it’s extraordinary!” Wen Xia, once slightly envious of Luo Quan’s talent, now felt nothing but complete admiration.

“With this level of promotion, Quan-jie is going to become a national goddess—just thinking about it makes me jealous~~~” Junzi clasped her cheeks, gazing dreamily.

Luo Quan retorted: “What’s so great about being a national goddess? A bunch of hormone-crazed men want to have babies with you.”

Junzi countered: “But that’s proof of your charm!”

Wen Xia nodded: “Exactly. What do celebrities want besides money? Isn’t it the thrill of being adored by millions?”

Luo Quan chuckled: “Ever dealt with stalkers?”

“Uh….” At the mention of stalkers, Wen Xia’s expression froze, her gaze darkening as if recalling something unpleasant.

“School starts in a few days—I’ll probably turn into a rare animal the moment I walk in. Imagine all the students and teachers surrounding you to take photos… ugh…” Luo Quan shook her head; the thought alone gave her a headache.

But there was no help for it; having become a star, you must accept the downsides along with the glamour. You can’t only take without giving—there’s always a price.

Just like releasing this new song: she gained nationwide fame, but the cost was that school life would soon become a nightmare.

P.S. With graduation approaching and my thesis project underway, I’ll only post one chapter per day from now on. I’ll return to two chapters once everything’s finished—apologies to my readers.